Before the years of bitterness
He was a boy with innocence
In this innocence, he lived happily
Looking through his books,
Longing for nothing
It was a funny thought
To think anything less
He had no clue what it was
Nor did he imagine it
He simply enjoyed his happiness
In the way that little boys do
Today I live as a lunatic
By simply looking at someone
For more than five seconds
A cry of assault can be heard
From a range of six miles
In every suburb, district, nation
And a group of hypocrites
To tell you to remain pure
I once saw life as an expression,
As it should be seen
You can question many things
Except love
I don't just want happiness--
I want a life of passion
How can they expect me to make magic
With these bursts of time they give to me?