I saw death in the eyes of a newborn,
I saw his body decaying, his flesh torn,
I foresaw that a butterfly is to die soon,
Every single time I spotted a cocoon.

I felt the end coming even before the beginning,
I saw total failure in what might be winning,
For in the future, I had absolutely no faith,
The best day of my week has always been the eighth.

I was afraid of the pain,
Of having loved you in vain,
I lived in the constant fear,
Of not finding you near.

Seeing that you might vanish and disappear,
And maybe will come a day you won’t be dear,
Perhaps you might just not love me anymore,
Maybe I’ll wake up and you’ll point me to the door.

But this time I am taking my chances,
Well, I have lived so long with anxiety,
It’s about time I tried a new variety,
New outlooks and perhaps romances.

I will see life in the eyes of newborns,
I will see promises in budding cocoons,
To smell the roses, I’ll suffer the thorns,
But roses there will be, and suns, and moons.

For once there seems to be warmth and light,
And it has nothing to with being day or night,
My strength is glowing, and so is my might,
After all, everything’s going to be all right!