What on this earth still interests me, what could I still want? Why does it still frighten me to be so weak and gaunt…? What fears could I still hide within or is that not the case…? And why am I always last to cross the lines of every race? What gift is worth the pain I feel; is such a thing a lie…? And why does every person think I shouldn’t want to die…? What sorrow in another’s mind do you think you could sort? And why is it, still, that suicide, is not your last resort…? Where on this earth is one like me, and why do you believe, That somehow, magically, we’ll meet, and both be so relieved…? More than twenty years I’ve seen through eyes three-hundred old, And still the world is full of malice, greed and hate and cold. I’m tired at the years I’ve seen, worn at what I am, And yet, somehow, quite angry, at my lack of being lamb. My eyes were ever open, even as a babe I wept, Knowing certainly full-well that none of it is kept. So why should I remain where only fools would seek to thrive? And why, with all that goes on here, should I remain alive…? So long a life within young eyes, and still they think me dumb, For what could such a ‘child’ know? Their simple rule of thumb. What I lack they all possess; what I posses they lost, So what reward could seek to fill the empty hole it cost…? Still my mind will wander and seek visions of the snow, And until I finally leave the pain will only, ever grow. Three years or three hundred, what difference does it make…? Nothing changes how each human will can only seek to take. They look at me with empty eyes, reflecting empty heads, All too willing to close again and wallow in their beds. What on this earth still interests me, why should I seek to stay? Anything I start to love will only ever go away. Broken dreams and promises are all that’s left of me, So maybe now it’s time to face what I will never be.