I found you between the covers
Laid bare before me,
A beginning a middle and an end
All there for me to discover,
On white sheets, in among the small print
Along with accompanying photographs
A catalogue if you will
In chronological order, unchangeable
As this is now a past event.

But these aren’t your words
There are quotes I’ll give you that,
But not an autobiography, this truth
Belongs to someone else’s twisted opinion
Through research and interviews with also
Rans, so where are you really, not here
Not raw emotion, frustration, devotion
No one saw inside your head, plucked
Your thoughts and put it down on paper.