• Day after day I feel my heart aching,
    As I hold my head in my weary hands,
    Anxiety caused me to start screaming,
    Because my fragile heart has turned to sands,
    Slowly it falls into a hourglass,
    Each sand quietly fills up the spaces,
    Piling inside like a Sunday's Mass,
    Looking straight ahead with Poker Faces.

    Behind those faces lies the hidden truths,
    Of the seven deadly sins that exists,
    The sins that all began when they were youths,
    Sins that caused me to bash trees with my fists,
    Oh how I yearn for forgiveness and hope,
    The hope to live that's not given by God,
    For I have dug a hole without a slope,
    So I lean against the dirt for a squad.

    Or a tiny speck of hope to arrive,
    And rescue me alive so I can thrive,
    So I can learn all I need to survive,
    And only then my soul will be revive.