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?