It's a broken Hallelujah that reigns over my lips,
Singing praises to something I can't prove exists.
They're like tape,
Holding me together while confining the mind I really want to speak.
They don't know who I really am:
What story has been carved into my skin;
What fate has been stamped onto my soul like a barcode,
Labeling me for the rest of my days;
Like an expiration date,
Marking me for my time to give it all up.
They don't know who I really am.
They imprison me on a path of shards,
Cutting into me with every wrong move
And bleeding out the wonder and inspiration to leave behind a skeleton of ignorance.
They stick labels to me as I crawl past
Until I'm crushed under the weight of stereotypes and expectations;
Of dream big but don't stray from the path;
Of forget the road less traveled.
They chain me down with cold bonds,
Tie me to my destiny where I shine with perfection:
Bright enough to hide my scars;
To hide the Hallelujah that strangles me into praising my demons and loving my nightmares.
I am born with a silver spoon in my mouth,
But a script in my hand,
A path of shards in front of me.
They don't see the shards I take with me though:
The blades of insecurity that hug my skin and thoughts.
They are blind to my imperfections,
To the blood that runs from my own mind;
And deaf to the song I sing:
The broken Hallelujah my heart screams.
They ignore the pain,
Walk past the shell that was me and accept the prize I won:
The empty reward.
But it isn't till I'm gone;
Till my words run dry and brittle;
Till my mind has bled out;
Till my heart can sing no more that they realize:
All that glitters is not gold.