To whom will it concern
If you don't become heard

I layer and layer my sadness
Which only strengthens my
Depression

Shooting stars were made to fall,
Watching Apollos tears.
When gods cry we know we're small,
That Theres A greater fear.

Ask and then
You shall receive,
But not for what
You hoped to see,
The world is clouded
It's getting hard to
Breathe, and even
Harder to see.

Poor mr Johnson
He had no one around
But when he was alone
Mr Daniels is who he found
Mr Daniels brought him strength
And mr Daniels
Brought him fear
But poor mr Johnson
There really was no one near
Because mr Daniels was just a logo
On some beer
So when his family called him out
And noticed his addiction
They saw his silly dreams
And they were labeled all as fiction
So mr Johnson once again
Found himself alone
But he turned another corner
and mr Morgan threw him a bone
His friends they drown his pain
But his life floated away
A castle of empty bottles
Made up of broken dreams
Cracked shattered ripped apart
And torn out at the seams

A wise man
once said  It's pointless,
To seek joy beneath the sun,
This is no Song of Solomon but,
Once it's finished-
Can you say you've won?

He sheathed his tongue long ago.
He did this because he knows
that the fool is made so by words
and if none can be heard than no
titles are given.

He will draw his sword and
carve his thoughts like slashes
into our heads like boards.
He will shoot glares like arrows
that sink deep into marrow
planting his own ideas into
our bones.

He will fight conversation
the way he would a dragon.
Putting all of his will and
might into stabbing words like
limbs until they all bow down
to him.

In all honesty, the silent knight
can sing, he can bring peace and
melody into war torn fields and
wield song into battle.

He can, but he wont.
All because of laughter that
hes afraid to hear if his melodies
Don't reach or come near the ears
Of someone who's willing
To hear the truths,
Behind each of his
Tears