What is it that makes us the way that we are?
Our looks, our thoughts, our clothes, our car?
Perhaps our beliefs or even our heart,
Personally I don’t know where to start.
I could say something about the choices we make
Or even about the action we take
Or say that we were born who we are
But that idea is a little bazaar.

So what can I say about who I’ve become?
It’s because of my faults or where I am from?
In my heart I do believe,
In this notion which I conceived.

We are all of those things, in combination:
Humor, appearance, procrastination.
Every thought we ever have had
Good, funny, hopeless, or bad.
We are what we do and we are what we feel,
Were everything we’ve imagined and everything real.
So who am I then? Just one in a few?
No. I’m just somebody that nobody knew.