Silence is golden, Glitter is not, Hope is an insult, If all hope is shot, Death is too easy, Life is too cruel, We live in a limbo, Like many a fool, Your arm is a canvas, My thigh is a shrine, No badges of honour, Are shaped like a line, Where once dragged a blade, Did tears there purify, Your prize or your shame, Your pride or your lie, To cry would be cheating, To scream would be fake, 'Twas not a commotion, That we wished to make, A class of our own, Has been carved by this deed, Forced into moulds, An ominous creed, I wanted salvation, I received only scars, Misguided by ourselves, The fault is all ours, I wish to believe, That we will be healed, Our flaws are not noted, When they are revealed, And we don't turn them into, A credit to our peak, We do not want attention, For being lamely weak, If we really have reason, We won't want you to know, We are not proud of what we've done, Lest it be just for show, So let us learn all by ourselves, That misery is rot, That festers deep inside of us, And infects all that we've got, We'll teach ourselves to smile again, Be glad that we once knew, A source now for a sickly pride, From which hope springs anew, Pick up all the broken pieces, From where the shot went in, The hopes and fears of our foolish years, Are written on our skin.
