They sit alone on the highest mountain,
rejecting the world around;
While nature sings its lovely songs,
they barely hear a sound.

The wind caresses the budding trees,
the summer flowers are in bloom;
But vacant souls and shallow hearts,
comfortably reside within the gloom.

Their motto is to take--not give,
and flaunt their hollow success;
While hurting all they claim to love,
and shedding each honored quest.

Now they're humbled by the night,
in the cold and bitter rain;
These trembling skeletons of regret,
now left alone assessing blame.

If only they'd reach out to God,
where forgiveness lies within;
But with the pride of shattered wills,
they simply turn away in shame.

" fake it till you make it."
no.
do you know how many times people have said those exact words?
And then one day faking it is too much and making it is too far away, now they are gone and we no longer fake and make it.
we cry for them now, but they've already cried for us.