I've picked up what fell, too many times So many, that I'm ready to pick things up again So many, I'm almost sure they'll fall again. I've been the one to throw them too Used to feel that I'd do it again. Maybe I won't at all, Because I'm tired of seeing it, Doing it, thinking about it. It's not a sad rant about what fell It's not something I used to care about It's a process that only ever repeats.
Been a few months since I'm feeling this way. Not sure I understand why, Not sure if I should be feeling this at all. For days I wonder who I am, Lose track and jump ahead to who I wanna be. Funny how I crawl back to who I was. Few hours pass by when I'm happy, proud. Talking to most of you, dancing in my head. Next one, man I'm just tired. Tired, not of you but me. Is it possible to not be me? Can I see me as you? Would I like me? Do you? And then I remember, it doesn't really matter. I sway along these thoughts and questions, Worthless moments are suddenly all I'm thinking about. I change myself too soon, so much I fail to recognise me. It's then, that I question again. Who am I? Whom do I wanna be? "Who I was" is what I'm staring at again. I've lost count.