My song

We all have our song, let's hear about mine.

My song;

 

Shoot me now, for what you hear, and think I am,

Shoot me later, for I don’t give a damn,

My song is tangled -- it has a lot of notes,

The vocals, though, is what you hear the most,

It’s not about you -- surprise;

It’s about me,

And to hear about her, is strange to you,

‘Cause to you, it will never be,

 

And you’ll never understand, you won’t be the one to crave,

You’ll never long -- as, or as long,

As I’m going to rave,
To my song,

Where I gave, not one single f**k, and where I think;

That the sky is the limit,

Who are you to judge,

When all you do is come to visit,

 

Call my song strange, tell me my style has changed,

But that’s far from true; all I’ve been is ranged,

Held back by the illusions of rules, and righteousness unjust,

Like I’d pay to go to heaven, or live to work in dust,

Like I’d put aside my life, to see a future in trust,

 

Just,

Give me anything, anyday -- a lie, or distrust,

Critique, a sentence in a way,

It seems to be a must,

But to me, one thing is for sure;

I won’t cry when my song will be discussed,

‘Cause I’ve tried -- I’ve given my best to “simply” adjust,

To live among, true,

Yet I’m young, and anew,

And surely,
I don’t belong,

Where you’ll rather judge,

Than ask about my song.

Author's Note

Feel free to tell me what you think. Cheers.