Jugde?

Who am I?
Who the fuck do I think I am?
You'll never know,
Because you can't open your eyes to see.

You seem like you know,
Who the fuck I am.
Well enough, I just listen.
Listen to all these stories of who I am.
You seem to know well enough.
Why the fuck should I speak?
Why should I tell you who I really am?

"Where did my daughter go?"
That line has a similar ring.
Do you really want to know?
I'm fucking still here,
Sitting, waiting, hoping, and listening.
Sitting and waiting for a different plan...
Still hoping for childish impossibilities...
Listening for some form of truth.
I'm fucking still here.
But go ahead,
Get rid of what's left of me.