Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,
I drift around crowded rooms like a feather in the breeze,
I’m filled with desire to feel the warm comfort of emptiness,
Maybe if the numbers get even smaller I’d respire at ease?
Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,
I am there, but my presence is far to be felt,
The things that will destroy me are the ones I crave the most,
Are these the same hallways I once happily dwelt?
Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,
I’m disappearing bit by bit,
Just as the length of the day in wintertide,
I can’t help but to fall in love with it.
Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,
If it’s wrong to carry a torch for the enemy,
To play into the villain’s poem,
Why is it so rewarding to assist them in the process of losing your identity?
Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,
I want my life less than my death,
Will I ever find peace in something yet so simple,
Or will I forever stay hungry for the consolation of my concluding breath?