What was left of me

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The alarm clock rings at two…

the night hangs heavy like lead.

I lift my head from the old wooden table,

and wonder who I’ll be today…

The alarm clock rings at two, I stare into the mirror,

but what I see… that ain’t me anymore.

A face full of scars, eyes black and empty,

a stranger staring back… and he don’t fear me.

My skin tells stories of a lifetime lost,

of dusty roads and battles I crossed.

Every scar has a name, every wound has a fight,

every tear buried deep in the coldest night.

I’m the man in the mirror, the one nobody knows,

a shadow in the fire, slowly turning to smoke.

My heart keeps beating, but it feels like stone,

too many lost souls left me standing alone.

I drive through the night where no angel remains,

in an old truck with a soul full of chains.

The Devil knows my name, he whispers it low…

but I keep on driving where the last stars fall and burn slow.

My hands are rough like the highways of sand,

too many years with blood on my hands.

I lost my brothers, I buried my friends,

I learned how the dead still speak to the living again.

The whiskey in my glass tastes like yesterday’s pain,

like all my mistakes and the things I can’t change.

I’m not looking for peace, I’m not looking for grace,

just somewhere my shadow still has a place.

I’m the man in the mirror, I trust no one,

a lone wolf walking beneath a dying sun.

My eyes carry the hate of a thousand lost days,

and my scars tell the stories my lips never say.

I drive through the night where the cold rain falls,

my engine screams louder than the ghosts in my walls.

When the morning arrives and the sunlight fades,

I’m just what’s left of the man I once was made.

Maybe there was a young man inside of me,

with hope in his heart and dreams to believe.

But the world took it all, piece by piece,

left only this stranger who never found peace.

And sometimes in the mirror, deep in the night,

I see for a moment the man buried inside.

A small spark of life, a flicker of light…

then the darkness returns and covers my eyes.

I’m the man in the mirror, a warrior scarred,

the last outlaw carrying a broken heart.

With scars on my soul and dust on my skin,

I trusted the darkness too many times to win.

When the alarm clock rings at two once again,

and the old man in the mirror welcomes me in…

I know the road takes everything from me,

but somewhere deep down…

a part of me still breathes.

The mirror never lies…

It doesn’t show you who you want to be.

It shows you what remains…

after the world has broken you.

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