I can't hold a conversation with them
They spit each word with their own hurt
They come to me hurling my own agony
They are wicked and cruel
I will not shed a tear yet
The clock will strike midnight
I might shed a tear
I might just let my agony turn into anger
Cruel and wicked are their intentions
I bite my own tongue and keep quiet
If I become numb to my emotions
What will I become
When midnight comes
I'll be numb