I Think of me as a river
Lost and trying to find it's way
People think they can say
Whatever they want about it
Call it small , call it big
When the poor river is only trying
To live and love itself
That river get bigger and bigger
Comes with it love and fear
Anxiety and smiles
This river tries to be calm and let people in
But all they do is destroy and criticize
And when its angry and agitated
Mostly for a solid reason
They get scared and run away
And act like it was the poor rivers fault
Is it my fault for realizing that all you did was kill me?
Is it my fault for wanting a new start at life?
A new spring
Nice and blue
Or is it your fault for letting me down and treating me so badly?
Or again is it my fault because I've never spoken?
