I don’t pray anymore.
I used to believe in the Father
—my father that passed in the past—
and then I believed in heaven,
a hopeful cloud that didn’t last.
I played a faithless symphony cold
praying to the god of death,
now I don’t believe in anything at all,
only one being, being myself.
I was born as a parent;
I don’t want to provide anymore,
in the shadow of a dead man
as if I chose to be born.
This is not my burden to bear,
not my responsibility;
if this is to be my life,
I’ll be dead before thirty.
I walk as a ghost all alone,
free roam an empty road,
with an even emptier heart,
I make my way on my own.
I can look you in the eye
with sorrow burning my soul,
lose shackles of your reality
and take back control.
Eight months can be a lifetime,
I don’t pray anymore,
better the cost of months in dimes,
than another lifetime war.
Kiran Speaks 