Sometimes, I think about my life,
With the Whiskey in my hand.
I think about all the lies,
Want to bury my head into the sand.
Sometimes, I think about the past,
About all the haunting ghosts.
The melancholy will be their host,
They will remain at last.
Sometimes, I think about the future,
You will be my surgeon.
My damaged soul, my damaged heart,
I know for sure, you are my suture.
(I hope, you can understand this little poem! :D I'm sorry for my bad english!)