Rise above the lonely crowd
raise your hands up high and act if proud
listen to your soul to keep
as the wicked are counted by sheep
take this sharp blade to your wrist
lose yourself in the mist and cut yourself deep block pain from your mind
let your anger unwind
make your own brick house
make it empty not a mouse in sight
stand close to the edge spread your arms and prepare for flight
life is not like a story of a man
he does all he ever can
he likes to sit under the rain
and think of all his inner pain
out within a distance comes
soldiers dressed in black with guns
and he runs
from his fears
bags under his eyes out comes his tears
no one knows why hes so depressed
why hes still so well dressed
holds a pocket full of cash
but he burns it all to ash
he drives a big fancy car
he likes to drive so very far
but for now he seems so lost
cold and stiff like a mornings frost
he has the same routine everyday
he even has a mansion by the bay
but he lost it when he lost hope
now his life is a downward slope
no sign of every being alright
no sign of seing the light
but every one is a little odd
so be happy with what you got
