Thinking again, I should've left.
Saw your crooked smile, pondering eyes.
You left me in the dust, you didn't care at all.
Every burning pain, every tear that falls and what's this all for? Just attention.
Did I mention, the tension is too much?
Or the scolding hot touch, is too much to bear?
Fighting here, fighting there, fighting hard.
Each shard in my chest, tests my strength but sometimes too much.
Sometimes it's too much.
You laugh and sing, I cry and scream.
It seems you only care for yourself yet you tell me otherwise.
Besides who cares about little old me? You could care less.
The stress of it all is straining. My soul is draining. The constant raining is tainting any happiness I have left, but I know it's not over.
Its never over.
But it's always too much.