Something about your manners
Surprises me every day, but no
Things are not the same in our lives
Here lies a doleful soul

Could it be a refusal?
Or just a way you just found to be mean
Such a narrow allegiance to such a weak happiness
Carry me in this chamber

Lie...
You might find me so lost
But it's just me a light that can't be seen
You might find me pathetic
Omniscient in my grave

Something about your scars
Makes me laugh and wonder why
Would you be open-minded enough
To fail in your trail

Doomed in the stanzas ( that the poet has made )
Painted in the canvas ( a forlorn self-portrait )
It made me like this... You failed before me