Hear the drums that make up your iron heart,
Hear that thud and clang,
As someone pounds down on it;
Throwing it down on the unforgiving ground.

Listen for that musical beat,
That is slowly fading away.
How intriguing it is.

Only the angels that choose to hear,
Are the only one's that can hear that flawed beauty.
That make up your iron heart.

Putting on that false hope,
Smiling wide for the crowd as the curtains open,
Starting the new day to life’s story.

Pulling all those face muscles,
Just so I can pull threw till the end of this show.

Lies are like memories,
I can’t stop creating them.
All these lies are spilling out of my mouth,
I wish I could just stop creating them.

I am standing up as I fall back down,
But no one can see those invisible chains around my feet,
Weighing me down.

I keep on putting on that false strength though,
I keep pretending I am enjoying playing my role in this show,
So the world can keep turning and everyone doesn’t have to be weighed down by my own self-troubles;
After all the show must go on.

At times I forget,
Sometimes I need a little reminder,
That I am worth something to somebody.

Moments in my life I need someone to nudge me,
To push me onward onto the right path,
So I don't find my way onto the depression path.

Sometimes I need some help,
Someone just to take the time to give me advice,
So I remember that I am not alone even on the loneliest nights.

Dear Mister Anxiety,
Can you please not nag me today?
Can you stop playing mind games with my already fragile mind?

Dear Mister Anxiety,
Oh how you make me petty and feel all lonely.

I don't want to think the world is always against me,
I just want to feel the love that is right in front of me,
But you don't seem to believe that it is true;
You state that its lies and push it away from my craving heart.

Oh, Mister Anxiety can you just let your worries go?

Can you finally lose your grip on me,
And stop thinking to deep into everything?

Oh I feel for you Mister Anxiety,
But I am tired can't you see?
Tired of you pulling me down into this pit of fear and worry.

This skin I wear,
Is all I have to care and though I wish to shed,
This old frame,
It is something I must bear.

The new me is frighting,
But the old me has bared to much hate.
And I tired of it all.

The skin I wear,
Its been shed so many times its to tiring to even count,
So I stop my pouts,
And I live with the skin I was given to bear.

The old me is fading,
But the new skin that I wear,
Is not fitting on properly.

The puzzle will never be finished or fixed,
So I stop my pouts and worrying doubts.
And live with the skin that I remade.