In the yesteryear before I lost myself, we marched in victory
holding our heads high with rusty crowns atop our heads
We didn't see the storm coming
and I doubt anyone does
Anxious and beaten, I found the cruel truth of something I should have learnt long ago
not everyone has the luxury of being saved
And now I'll sit here, in my head, enslaved
We saw the clouds but couldn't care less
The rain hadn't started yet
the rain in which I lost myself
in which I died
I've forgotten how to save anyone
from even a slap on the wrist
from even the reaper's hand
from even love's fatal twist
for that is the person who I am today
In the yesteryear in which we wrote our names in the sand
we were unaware of the storm
unaware of the rain
May those past selves of ours be happy
and may they be victorious.
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