The storms beginning to role in,
His wounds are deep, and the ice is thin.

How much longer can he walk? With the burden of loneliness?
But yet he's able to hide it off with a smile, it's his hidden illness.

He walks down the street, passing by blurry people, no one stopes and stares,
He can't even go up to a friend anymore, silence is all that meets him,
His ray of hope is very very dim.

His heart is shattered like broken glass,
The pieces are too hard to count, it's such a big mass.

One more shot and he's dead,
And the dirt will be around his head.

If things don't straighten, they sky will be stained with blood,
And not a footprint will be seen in the damp mud.

One more slice, and he won't see,
He can barley taste his afternoon tea.

It really *****, life is crap without a friend,
His hope is beginning to bend.

He shall sell it, that's what he will spend,
And in his eyes the world will end.