It's not me. I don't usually do this. 
I'm not normally like this.
So where have I been then?
It's not me. Where have I gone? 
How long ago did I leave? 
Can anyone still see me? 
And who should I believe, is me? 
I'm sure that by the water somewhere, among the broken things that gather there.
I might be found, safe and sound.
Why can't I feel? 
The sadness walks around me. 
All the terrible things that I see. 
How beautiful it's supposed to be, to me?