All that I think is mine,
All that I think is me,
is a summation of what I've been told,
of what I've been instructed to see.

'Who am I' is not the question.
The crisis is not one of identity.
Don't be misled, my friends.
The real illusion is this 'me'.

There is nothing new inside there.
Just scribbled notes and summaries.
A bunch of borrowed opinions
And some stolen memories.

I know I can talk and share today.
I can scream to make some noise.
But I hope by the day I die,
I'll have somehow, found my voice.