It’s easy for you to sit back and point the finger at me.
But turn around and face the mirror then tell me who do you see.

You have all this anger inside of you just waiting to be released.

I know that I would finally be free.
If only I could release the child in me.

Let go and move on is easy to say.
But that's hard to do when your past is in the way.

Protecting his woman is what a man is supposed to do.
But the knife I sleep with protects me from you.

It’s like trying to recover from a bad dream you’re in.

Love is hard work, so I’ve been told.
But what part of the vows say, to have and to control.

I use to make excuses for the way you treated me.

Like a computer that’s about to crash.
Storing memories of the past.

Trying to release some of the pain.
Letting the thoughts drive me insane.

Attempting to keep up a look of pride.

Many years have past since the assassination.
Yet all folks talk about is some kind of reparation.

The very night of his death you defeated the purpose.

A phone call awakens me.
It is the Past on the caller ID.

I should have known then that something wasn’t right.
When the past kept calling in the middle of the night.