And you hope the worst is over,
The past is in the past,
And all you have is roses and blues ahead.
Then again, you realize,
It’s the same room, the same bed,
The same walls and this very ceiling,
That took everything from you,
Your sanity, your peace, your being.
The past is not gone.
It’s not roses and blue.
It’s just another shade of grey.
Etched in your soul, forever to stay.
For it’s all in your head,
And the attic of sorrow.
