Glazba

No one hears the silent weep in my mind

And no one sees the pores that cry

In this box that offered me life, in this prison

Of lies.

Never the words have been true to existence

Never has hypocrisy left your mouths

And I hang on to the magic, I hang on to a voice,

To sound.

Tomorrow is another same day

With another different way

To remind me I was born to keep still,

To be dead.

To show me I can’t reach grace

To tell me I’m the dust on the pavement

To keep me well buried under

Your two feet.

No one sees the wounds of the spirit

That the head can’t lift up

And so I hang on to the magic,

The sound

Cuddling up in its soft caress

My spirit rises from the ground

Knowing there is no refuge

But this.