I am bitter, and I am cold
And these words, empty,
The ones that can't be told.
I am unspoken in many ways;
I have been broken too many times,
I have written in blood,
I have made meaningless rhymes.
I have a soul, it is here in me,
It is broken, like my heart,
Both are caged; neither free.
I have written words impossible;
It is the speaking which I cannot say,
I have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,
Night always turns into day.
How can I say what cannot be said?
I must keep it locked up, or else,
And the rest I keep inside my head.
Oh, but it's my heart that carries the weight:
it is my heart that has lost the war.
What war? what battle? there is neither:
I am confused in my very core.
What words can tell you what I need to say?
What words can tell you the unmentionable?
When it must be silent there is no way;
when there are no words it cannot be found.
I would say, but there's more then what you think.
I am chilled, I am happy and sad,
Happiness is gone in a blink.
What heart but mine can hold the worst,
What soul but mine can be broken and whole,
It seems sometimes that I will burst,
For what I hold inside is my secret.
I would tell you, but I cannot,
There is more then these words.
There is more then what I've sought.