I have all these questions, Sir,

with not a mortal response.
So I have all these problems, Sir,
that I don’t know how to solve.
 
Was it with your left hand you have painted me into being, Sir?

In this right-handed worldyou made, why did I turn out this way?
 
Forgive me for these questions, Sir,

I mean to place no blame.
But forgive me for asking such, Sir,
For why I’ve become this way.
 
Where did my youth go?
It’s like I’ve been trying to hold onto morning mist, sir,
It seems like it’s here, but the sun always rises and we always burn away.
 
I wondered if you hate me, Sir,
For they say you make no mistakes.
But forgive me for wondering still, though, Sir,

For I can’t help be in pain.
 
What sins of my past life am I paying for?