I'm a punk rocker.
I'm a hillbilly rougher.
I'm a terroist scum.
I'm a problem child.

I'm filled with love
And cursed with a fate.

I'm made of fragile paper.
But written with blood.

I say what I mean
Bit act on what I'm not suppose to.

I have great people in my life.
I'm left with no one but myself.

This plague, this bitterness. This disease.
It eats inside and feeds of the good I give.
To be swallowed and spar back at my feet.
To reep nothing and destroy all.
To care for everyone and not myself.

I am what I am.

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