Perfectly wrong.

My dying breath, with every living memory.

I can't see what's right,

I'm to week, to human, to crazy, to do it alone.

and what is wrong- 

I feel as if I'm running again.

you used to show me.

Was it all in my head, is it still...


With every dying memory, I breath.

I don't see your wrongs,

I initiate, instigate, illuminate, am to independent.

and why I'm not right-

I feel fulfillment.

Let's stand down.

This so long has be come to short, rather fast I fear...

Dear God if there's hope left for me in this world, chain me to it.