Who broke my soul?
I took the toll.
For when the rain comes down,
from a slanted cloud,
from a vicarious clown,
the light isn't as loud.
Who wrote my life?
I'm the one living it.
When I die from the pain,
I'm the one giving it.
Who stole my heart?
I never feel affection.
Looking every which way,
without a sense of direction.
Who cleared my slate?
Gave me a second chance.
I couldn't stand to be me,
but I deserved another glance.
I broke my soul and I wrote my life.
I wrote the ransom for my heart and I cleaned off the knife.
So I tore down my walls for I had to be certain.
I had to know it was me behind the grand curtain.
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