In this photograph,
As plain as it may be,
Lies a certain someone,
That certain someone's me.
Troubled by the world,
Washed away by the sea,
In this photograph,
Is what people know of me.
Is this who I really am?
Is this who I'm meant to be?
All I'll ever know,
Is what people know of me.
I've traveled through the darkness,
I've traveled through the night,
But all I'll ever know,
Is the flower of the night.
The shadows often ask me,
"Who are you that I see?"
I reply, "What I know,
Is what what you know of me."
Is this all I'll ever be,
Just a picture in a frame?
Is this all you'll ever know,
To describe what's in my name?
No matter what you hear,
No matter what you see,
All I'll ever know,
Is what people know of me.
