What we think we are, What they think we are!

We record our own life as we go through it,

We write with a pencil in our minds,

What happens day after day,

When we make a mistake,

We hide it by writing in a new page,

Its life, there's no eraser for us to erase us,

But in some part of our life,

We betray and hurt our parents,

Whether it may through an argument about something stupid

Or your first argument

Or a big argument

Its recorded in our life

But our parents will simply

Erase it for us

No matter how wrong it is

They'll always say "You're forgiven, I love you sweetie"

With that they erase our guilt & our pain

If there's a pencil, then there's an eraser.

Contrary to our parents, our existence are Colour Pencils

On a sheet of white paper that we walk on together

We colour something on the paper as time passes

When we're born,

A sun appears on their paper

When we first learn to crawl

A grassy field grows on their paper

When we call "Mama" or "Papa"

They sound like the song of the Nightingale

When we learn to walk

A dirt road appears on the field

So they can walk with us

As we grow up

Flowers grow on their fields

Each time we express different emotions

Different coloured flowers appear

But one day...

When we hurt our parents 

A lone bush of rose appears

As beautiful as we appear to our parents

But beneath it are thorns that will prick their hands when they take care of us

So we pray another day comes

That we will make the proud and happy 

So that a stretch of Sunflowers will appear

As bright as the sun

As beautiful as they see us

As great as they see us as

Never to prick their gentle and defenseless hands again