When I tell stories that play in tragedy, I don\'t say it that I may prey on ensuing pity
When I tell you of how my skin met the cold metal buckle pin because a man called dad asked me to prep meal, then caught offense when the bread was stale again.
it\'s intentions are that to arise a chuckle from u and let out what I held within
I haven\'t a life of exuberance, travel and plentiful friends as others recounted
My life was isolate and quiet. Un-ruined in reluctant silence until moments that violence unannounced pounced it
Where others met joyous cheers, I and kin let in porous fears
Tho thats not to say I hate my past. I lived it fine when faced with straining glass. But I won\'t Lie just to see your smile back.
If I can\'t relate by the means of others born under warming stars, then I implore, look more into these, still-cold burning scars. U can find it clear what arises my laughing roars.