We are the jokers
The invisible roamers
The insomniac dreamers
And the at-risk soldiers
sitting here colder, shoulder to shoulder,
Always being told "you'll be better when you're older".
What about now?
My grip won't hold.
Platitudes don't help when it can't be consoled.
Everything is fine but I am losing control.
First of my mind, and then of my soul.
It's too heavy to carry, so we do it ourselves,
Because when did Atlas ever ask for help.
We tie a tourniquet around our bleeding shell
And never show this living hell
We'll cover the cuts with longer sleeves
We'll catch the tears like falling leaves.
Together we're alone
Or so we believe
Standing like a forest of fallen trees.