There are times, like a bee life's got to sting
When we look in the wild and only thorns we see
Deaf to the beautiful songs the Nightingale will sing
We weren't taught how to swim yet this life is a Sea
Sometimes we wish its just a song that'll beautifully come to end
Yet it keeps playing on and flowing like a river or stream
We try to fit in for emotional safety but succeed in failing to blend
We pray for an escape as we silently scream
Can you tell the difference between reality and fiction?
Is never forgiving time and stopping to believe a crime?
Is it a fault to render it an unfair jurys Diction?
Isn't that similar to forcing every poem to rhyme?
There's a song that we sung when we still hoped
And our shattered hearts still sing even if our mouths stopped