I’m from the crudely put together
stack of old bricks,
with it's old windows,
and it's crumbling old stairs.
With it's mismatched paint job,
and it's dusty surfaces.
Worn down old walls,
cracks here and there,
and water-stained ceilings.

I'm from lush grass,
quite a decent amount of space,
and a rickety old shed hidden in the back,
behind the lilac trees.
Blooming blackberry bushes,
a freshly built pine fence,
the work of my grandfather and myself,
flowers blossoming everywhere,
a flurry of pinks and blues and greens,
a beautiful sight.

I'm from a broken family,
daddy dearest never dared to show his face,
he never took a part in my life,
he was simply never there.
He tore me to pieces without even trying,
he had always said I was a mistake.

Most of all,
of all the things that bring me down,
it'd have to be my past that gets me the most.
Old friends, that left my life,
without even saying goodbye.
Late nights spent on my porch,
drinking coffee and tea,
just talking about life.
The memories that I've forced
into the back of my mind,
the memories that shatter my heart,
and completely tear me apart.
The memories,
that lie within my scars,
for they are a gentle reminder,
that now is a better day.

In the end,
I'm still from an old stack of bricks,
with it's old windows,
and it's crumbling old stairs.
In the end,
I'm from shattered hopes and dreams...