It's the source of all my tears,
It's the sum of all my fears,
It's the knife that's chipped away at me
for far too many years.

It's the tingle on my skin,
It's the empty loss within,
It's the wave of stark confusion,
as my time is running thin.

It's my panic in the crowd,
It's the silent and the loud,
It's the end of my solemn dignity,
and the freedom it allowed.

It's a growing cloud of noise,
It's coming from the girls and the boys,
It rips through me like whirlwind,
and does not give back what it destroys.