The old me is dead and gone,
Lost back in the grip of history.
It’s like raising myself to surrender
My innermost me to be shot at by fate.
The old me would have protested,
Would have screamed at justice’s injustice.
Would have cried bitter tears of unrepentence,
But the old me is dead and gone.
Lost amid stories gone by and history’s grasp.
The old me would have lied at being petrified
By the very thought of being sane.
The clock ticks slowly on as I think.
If the old me is dead and gone,
Where is the person that I am to be?
If the old me is dead and gone,
What have my stories been replaced with?
If the old me is dead and gone,
Why do I feel it deep inside my soul?
If the old me is dead and gone,
Why am I still who I once was?
The old me is dead and gone.
History will not repeat itself.
Destiny will not change.
Life will go on.
Though the old me is dead and gone.