In the mirror of my mind,
It's becoming ever clearer;
As I reflect upon these thoughts,
Which I fought so hard to form:
My brain's a perfect storm—
When the rains comes rolling in,
The thunder and the lightning,
Are sometimes rather frightenin'.
But I will keep on fighting—
And I'm not giving in;
This storm will pass into the past,
And the sun will shine (its light) again.
From the ashes I will rise,
Like a pheonix, to the skies;
And best believe it when I say,
That I will seize the day.
I'll end this with a metaphor—
This metamorphosis must begin,
To turn this worm into a butterfly,
So I can finally fly again.