History has its eyes on me—
Or so I wish to believe.
Constantly ignored, refuted
I’m not so sure how to achieve
My dreams, I work, I write I want
to blow them all away,
But sometimes it all seems for nay.
I have the talent, I have the drive
Or so I wish to believe.
Friends reassure, but that’s what they’re for.
How can I get out there? How can I prove myself?
My style is unique, do I change it just in order to be seen?
In my heart I know, that it probably isn’t as it seems,
but somedays I just
I just I just

I don’t know what it means
to stay constantly reassured.
I want to be satisfied, but sometimes I feel helpless.
I know, I know, I must believe in me.
Confidence is always the key.
But they always forget to mention how difficult it is to keep.
Maybe, just maybe I can.
No, not maybe, nothing is achieved with a maybe.
I have to remember these things happen suddenly
but only after work and toil and time.
There is no reason, no rhyme
Just possibility.

History will have its eyes on me,
that, I can guarantee.
Stay strong, work hard, and just believe.
And when you’re alone and unsure,
remember you have one shot.
If you throw it away, you’re a goner for sure.