Sometimes, I wish my life were different
Sometimes, I wish I were someone else.
But then again, if Heaven offered the trade,
Not even once, that offer I would never take

Maybe I could trade with someone happy.
Maybe someone sad is my perfect trade.
But a trade would take things only I have
And give some things I don't want to gain.

Even if I trade with someone I admire,
Some things within them, I don't want to gain.
Neither good nor evil—there are things I have
I must keep, even if they send me to fiery hell.

Not because those things are special,
Nor because I want to be a little different.
I don't even know them—how would I explain?
They just seem both shameless and ashamed.

There is one or two things in everyone I truly hate.
So why do I sometimes wish I were just like them?
Why do I wonder, what if my life were a little different?
Maybe I just want to know their love and their hate.
Maybe I just want to know how, what they truly seek.