Wipe your eyes, wipe your eyes, My Child. What is the use of crying. Clean your tears, clean your tears, my daughter, it brings no solution. But Father, I am all alone. My very life is not even mine to plan. It seems everytime I look up to You with a smile, and say Thank you, there is always some drama waiting to happen around the corner. Everytime I look ahead with bright hope, and plan ahead with such faith, it falls to shambles because of some unforeseen blockade, some unbelievable occurrence. Others walk the same path, and its smooth, their feet barely touching the floor as they hurry by, but mine... my own is full of potholes, of unimaginable limits and delays, some stupid reasons why I cannot move forward. I am tired Father, I am tired. I don't know why my own must be different. Who did I offend before being born? Who is it that I must appeace once and for all so that I can move on without a hitch? What did I do to deserve all this? I know how you feel my Child but it is the ...