What would they say if they
could read my mind?

Would they pity or wont they just mind?

They say that i was pretty,
heck if that is true.
Lies, liars thats all that i knew.

Shaming,
idiocacy and scars.

Tainted shadows and
painted flasks.

Children die and parents mourn,
when i die would you cry for me too?

Just because you cant see it doesnt mean its not there, the words he sang had never been more true.

Strangled noises
and pained silence,
thats all that i am,
a bundled up horde of misery covered in a glossy wrap.