I hate the way I always try.
And the way I almost cry.
I hate the feelings never shown.
And the ones that are never even known.
I hate the lies I tell myself.
And the ones I put up on the shelf.
I hate the lies that I tell you.
And the way that I have run you through.
I hate the way I want to die.
And the way that feeling can intensify.
But most of all I hate the way
I want to change and always delay.