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This prison I carry, Till my time ends and they bury, Is but a shell of the truth, Of what I was since youth. The prisoner hides, Till the voices subside. And will only be free,
When I walk down the street, Talking to the people I see, I can't help but wonder, If who they see is really me. To them I am funny and kind, I always have a smile on my face.
Close the curtain and turn on the smoke machine.
Behind her blue eyes, there stands a girl, chubby and stout
A baby, that doesn't cry. No control. A child, that doesn't speak. Timid and shy. A teen, afraid to speak. Isolated and alienated. Feeling misunderstood. Fear of being uninteresting.