What is the problem
the disappointment in your face
the sadness in your eyes
that sly somber smile you use as your disguise  
the feeling of wanting someone with you
...and then no one at all
Are they the problem?
Piercing; judging with their looks
whether it be about the person I love  
if I believe in up above
or if I keep my head in books
Am I the problem?
for being so self conscience  
for letting depression grasp it's hands on everything I've conquered  
am I wrong for taking on peoples problems  
so I can ignore mine
even knowing once I'm alone again they will be on the rise
I'm the problem
They're the problem
The problem will always be there and always true
and now that you're done with mine  
**whose problem are you?

sitting in the bus
I hold these moments dear
maybe if im silent the time will slowly still
looking out the window it doesn't slow the pace
just tell me im not someone who will be surly be replaced
I don't know any words to ease your pain today
all I know is that soon ill be on my way

suppression of feelings in my head tend to come out at night
a killing since of loneliness that causes me to wander out in to the dark
and sometimes I wonder why....like is there something im chasing  looking for longing to see
but someday ill find me..maybe after all the long night walks the sleepless nights the drinking
I wont need those things to escape...I wont need to avoid my problems by helping others

i couldent tell you whats wrong even i tried
and i tell you that im alright dont assume that just lied
sometimes i just need space and just alittle time
i got alot of secrects but half of them arent mine

Bright lights shine a silhouette and show the glowing eyes of dark souls
in a frenzy of rapid motion i feel the pulsing  of the bass drum the screaming of the cymbals and the gallop of the toms this is no energy you can escape from it creeps between the crack of every dream and the dark of every nightmare the animalistic ties you have will take you over until the drums stop and show is over

while i was looking for seat on the bus
i sat without looking in a rush
i suddenly looked up and there she was
A brown haired angel
a face sculpted with perfection in every angle
with hazel eyes that seem to peer though souls and dreams
a voice that flows elegantly like a steady stream
i put my music on hoping i wouldn't bug her
but soon in the trip she ask would i mind if she put her head up on my shoulder
but as quick as it started we got home and my day dream was over

Though the pain and the shame
We will rise to make a name
for the kids with scars and the voices in their head
reach for the stars and take note on what you read
Because the people who don't believe in you are better off dead