I know why I'm living,
I know what I've lost,
I know what I'm giving,
I know its cost.

I've seen too much,
For such short years,
I've heard of things,
Beyond my peers.

Things I have caused,
Things I have gained,
Things I do not wish,
To think of again.

Why must it be so?
Why must this bother me,
To no extent,
Without the words with which it was meant?

I do not plead for my life,
I just live it until I am trice,
Like the flowers and the moon,
I will end all too soon.

I see you now,
As I've seen all before,
I see you like the sun
In all your gore.

And glory! Oh, glory.
With such a thing to live by! Oh, such a thing.
Built up and broken and mended and debauched! Oh, mended and debauched.
Why must this cost so much? The cost is too much.

I pray now, like I've prayed before:
With nothing in my heart,
Other than a wish. Not even a wish.
A hope, a belief, an idea more than all.

But nothing, oh nothing,
Is worth so much.
So, hear me now,
As I call to you again:

I know that I'm not living,
I know that I am lost,
I know that I have given,
And I truly know it's cost.
 
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