Inside the idle crevices of an empty soul
Lays a part of me that I shall not befriend.
Now it is filled, and then drained again
By faces and places I do not comprehend.
Scratched upon by an old splintered pen
The scars on this soul shall never ever mend.
Now it is clean, and then stained again
By faces and places I do not comprehend.
Just a look in the mirror and all is clear,
I am not whom I often seem to pretend.
Now I am me, and then another again
A face in a place I do not comprehend...
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