i'm searching for the wreckage all around the room
a proof or life of better yet of doom
in the messy papers of my pure existence

piles stacked up everywhere from the summer day of june
to the crinkled notebooks from the months of gloom
tales of school life, friendship, and betrayal

and in the words i see a figure close to me
the figure show to me is he
a figment of my old imagination

a prince to be
better than the one in life, (times three!)
but is he real or is it me

can my messy papers be more than thoughts?
can my messy papers be tales i sought?
and yet the questions come to me

but as i ponder in the room
and contemplate as i further broom
is it a lie a dream or fake
when is it time for my awake

from simple lies or stolen goods
from broken hearts misunderstood
my life is real and yet its fake
written down with all mistakes

and joy and laughter filled the day
but sorrow is all i have to say
the times have changed with good and bad

but are we all alone in this i ask
if my memory serves correct
those messy papers are filled with regrets
and promises and hope

but these papers are all my past
and my job is to make the memories last
so there the papers flutter in my room
reminding me of fate of love of hope and doom