I look into the looking glass,
I try to sort out my past.
Wondering if I am who im not.
I try to remember who i forgot.
I take into consideration,
when i called for the nation.
I became of the world,
and not in it.
I judged death,
though I have not lived it.
And I try to realize and understand.
Why no one wants to take my hand.
So now Im lonely, and I have ran,
from my life, love, liberty, freedom, and where I stand.
The looking glass shadders,
and I am but lost.
I touch my face and feel only frost.
The past is broken, so I cannot live.
Will my future ever forgive me?