Why does time always seem to know my secrets?
The more I give to someone, the less I become a mystery.
They always did say that "time would tell"
but I wish it were more up to me.
My walls were built over years of practice,
and within seconds, fractions of moments,
time would tell you how to break them down.
I should have known not to hide at all.
I was always wasting my time,
at some point it must have noticed.
So it called you around, gave you a key,
and told you to make me be something
something worth your time.