Maybe

Running. Always running. But still I'm caught. Caught up in a web of ignorance That is called life. I have nothing. Family and friends, Run away at the sight of me, Bleeding, dying, crying. Left for someone else to take care of me. But who? Who on earth will help me? When I don't even want to be helped? And those who can help don't. Instead they laugh. Instead of sympathy, I get nothing but ignorance. Because no one will listen; no one will hear. And I'm left to pick up my pride My heart My life Myself. Well, maybe I don't want to. Yeah, maybe.

Home, Jeeves.