Who’s going to be there for me
When I fall and hit the ground
Hoping someone’s going to catch me
At the moment I hear the pound
I feel I’m now at the edge
But you know I might be wrong
I can sense the cold razors edge
Now I know the wait isn’t long
In the past they would catch me
But now I feel I got no-one
Now I just have to wait and see
This race I’m in I know they won
As I sit on the cliff’s edge
I see why birds like to be free
As I stare down the razors edge
I can see the true and pure me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem