As A Child I Suppose I Was

How Can You Be True And Kind At The Same Time? How?

Young Or Old, Good Or Bad, I Don't Think Anything Dies As Slow And As Hard As A Writer.

And The Color In My Eyes Has Gone Back Into The Sea.

I Only Want Sweet Peace And Kindliness When I Awaken -- But There's Always Some Finger Pointing, Telling Me Some Terrible Deed I Committed During The Night. It Seems I Make A Lot Of Mistakes And It Seems That I Am Not Allowed Any.

I Was Laying In Bed One Night And I Thought 'i'll Just Quit - To Hell With It.' And Another Little Voice Inside Me Said 'don't Quit - Save That Tiny Little Ember Of Spark.' And Never Give Them That Spark Because As Long As You Have That Spark, You Can Start The Greatest Fire Again.