I feel alive again,
But deep down somewhere,
I'm grieving something that's concealed.
My incapability of speaking haunts me.
I wish I was 8-years old,
So they would call me "shy" and not "arrogant"
May be I don't want anything.
When I ask for everything.
Nights couldn't be more pleasant;
Although sometimes I forget,
Things may not work out the way I want to,
But there's no point in fearing the oblivion.
I'm not planning on living forever,
But I certainly seek happiness,
while I'm still breathing.