Treasure what life I have left,
Salvaging even some scraps.
Pleasure plays a part in theft,
by gouging great open gaps.

Bereaving the best of being alive,
Years that I yearn when I was young.
Leaving life and leaping a nosedive
Tears that burn when retinas are wrung.

Oh, what I'd trade to take back ten years of time,
Altering all actions after a decade of abiding.
I'll go on a crusade of correcting my countless crimes,
Faltering from failures, I'm forever fighting...

Even selling my soul, I'd strive to do anything for half a score.
What's left of it is wicked anyway.
That's my goal; the grass was always greener ten years before.
That's why I'm ready to disappear any day.