A little diary book lying in the corner, coloured by time.
Cute, innocent penciled words still trying to find their own handwriting style.
Growing older, we learn how to mute the pain in our life,
Using our tears to try to heal the scars.
Sometimes we may forget,
But our bodies will always remember the hurt.
The words in the diary book reminded me of my childhood dreams.
Never knew that all this time, I had been keeping the flames of my childhood dreams alive.
Songwriting is my gift. And my gift to you are my songs.
if you forget who you are, or why you are still breathing,
listen to my songs, and find yourself.
Go back to when you were innocent and brave as a child,
When you dared to dream.
To be a pilot, a dancer, a teacher, a mother.
Before the world told you that you could not.
Your dreams will grow old with you,
So keep them burning before they become too vague to remember.