When you look at me, why can't you see the tears?
Perhaps it is because they are lucid, so invisible the truth lay clear
Though you were mistaken as you disguised me
Adamant in your thought of grasping onto the past
I gave you the canvas of my soul, and you painted me a picture of what you wanted to see
I am not the naïve child lying cold and naked that you still wish to find
I am broken and you can not fix me, only I can mend these eyes
I face the wind, soar I might, die I must
Don't speak; your reminiscing is only of lies and is only pushing me further away
How can you look at me, when you see these tears?
