Am I born to roam the world?
To suffer from severe cold?
Am I just a condemned survivor?
In pathetic world I'm outsider.
I hate folks who get me wrong,
That my heart is carved of stone.
Fools, they'll never understand
The sense of what I ever meant.
I lost my power breaking walls,
Nothing's left for final calls.
Should I search for some resource,
To gain the wits before get worse?
I had both will and motivation
To bring the world some information,
But world is blind to see the truth,
Sometimes I hate it, that's my clue.
To much time have passed away,
Since I quit my nighttime pray,
'Cause I did lose my guarding angel,
For now I'm just a misfortuned stranger.
My self-esteem is still controlled
But I'm about to explode.
I never thought it'd be so hard
To carry on with wounded heart.
Am I born to roam the world?
© Copyright: Пилипенко Сергей, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112102101633
Свидетельство о публикации №112102101633
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