Villain in my own story

Some questions, that keep me up at night
Everybody makes up an answer, but somehow none of them feels right.
Do I hide from my fears or fight for glory?
Why am I the villain in my own story?

Why does it feel like 100 years if I have only lived for twenty-one,
And if I don’t follow my parents, am I really a bad son?
Some say I am too young for my age,
but then, they haven’t seen my tears, my smile, or my rage.
I have always felt like some kind of an old soul,
Coz wealth and fame were never the end goal.
There is a pain, that keeps on growing in my heart
Do I fight it, or let it tear me apart?

These questions, keep me up at night
There are answers, but somehow none of them feels right.
Does everyone hide from their fears or fight for their glory?
And are they too, the villain in their own story?

Why do I have to carry the weight of my actions?
And without them, am I just left with a fraction?
I accept if there is a start, there is an end,
But do I wait for the day or keep making amend?
Everybody says we come from and go back to earth,
How do I not question, if that’s all I’m really worth?
These questions light me up like a fire,
To end this for once and for all, is the only thing I desire.

Same age-old questions, that kept me up at night
Still no answer that does feel right.
Do I hide from my fears or fight for glory?
Why am I the villain in my own story?