Not who I used to be.

Oh, the simpler times of yesteryear.

Being born gentle leaves a bitter aftertaste.

Less bitter than when I have to face half of your heart that can't decide.

What I thought was set in stone turned out to be a fool. A fool who notices his foolishness. Yet lacking in his capacity to grasp his own intricacies in trying to figure his livihood. Leaving nothing left of the man, except the dust that was meant as the stone holding what he figured was everything, down.