Two years ago today
I finished writing my first book and then hid it away
Didn't have a lot to say
My train of thought derailed a lot
And then went its own way
I didn't try to guess the future but I guess I did
It's more than just a premonition
Happens somewhere every-day
I let you see it yesterday
I told you to, you read it through, you said 'It was okay'
When I gave the book to you
Everything I wrote back then started to come true
I guess they try to tell me this before
I know I'm not just guessing anymore
I wrote then with no regrets but it's different now
The more you read the stranger that it gets
I need a place to hide
If someone reads the final page I won't get out alive