As a kid, I used to count on my fingers,
One to ten and ten to one,
I grew up that way.

One, a number to start.
Two, people share a heart.
Three, realizing that you waste the time being free.
Four, that some hurts are so deep to never find a cure.
Five, and that's exactly the portrayal of life.
Six, it ain't as sweet to be licked.
Seven, wishing words could meet heaven.
Eight, oh! Please let's go back to seven.
Nine, realizing that some things were never mine.
Ten, excuses to keep.

Ten, fingers speaking clandestine secrets.
Nine, on discovering my fad for sweet cigars.
Eight, on accomplishing anything great!
Seven, that it's never too late.
Six, 'sorry' heals even the deepest wounds.
Five, sleep tight; because in the night, only dogs howl.
Four, "Do I still need to grow more?"
Three, oh, it's the end of the time; when I was from all the worries free.
Two, eyes which have drenched in more pain and dismay than bright envisions.
One, where all you have is to gain. So, why not start again?