I'm not myself,
Just another book on the shelf,
Showing my spine,
But it's not yours, it's mine.

Judge this book by its cover,
Because you don't want to discover,
The truth between my pages,
This book has been rotting ages.

As my pages turn yellow,
You read that I am mellow,
As your hands turn black from ink,
I pray that I would sink.

You think you know the real me,
You think that I feel free,
But no book can be himself,
When he's stuck on your reading shelf.