Baby you can talk
you can talk to me
everything little thing is gonna be okay
and that's all they ever say
like it's so **** easy,
but speakin up like you ask makes me queasy.

They let me know
every other day
"I'm here for you
you can tell me true
if you're feelin blue
I'll do the best that I can do"

no.

Once again
assuming
presuming
talking is a matter of having someone
to make the past undone
make you stop tracing
where bruises once were
because apparently it's all a simple matter of facing.

them.

them is all I think about
it's always on the brain
clouding vision like a storm
flooding my system with rain

You say I can speak
say it'll make everything better
but I can barely write a letter
to myself
I'm sittin dusty
on my study shelf
lots of words written
but none of them read
because the world is blind
and they need to hear it
to believe it
to make it real
and I want to speak
to those who are undeniably kind,

but it's not as easy as it seems
fraying at the seams
I'd like to speak
speak up loud
evaporate the storm clouds
but given the chance to vocalize
give you an issue to focalize
in the end of it all
I'll just run away,
because I don't know where to begin
and I'll never know what to say
so afraid of my sin
though,
in silence,
I'd still like you to stay.