9/93
When I'm gone no one will
understand me.
For now I guess I'll be like
a tree.
Standing there so humble
and tall.
From summertime until
the fall.
A lot of people will
pass by.
The days and months seem not
to fly.
I regret some things I
have done.
While I was here under
the sun.
I don't know what
to do.
My hands are stuck
like glue.
Please, someone notice and
reach out.
Tell me what this is
all about.
If this would happen I would finally
be happy.
And then I would go on living in a
perfect world.