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You need a friend today, |
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But it never happens after knowing your name. |
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Before people say good day they ask how much you weigh, |
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Then they say your skin looks gray. |
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You put a lock on yourself, |
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And try to throw the key so far away |
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From all the demons, so called specialist grown-ups, |
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Commenting between the cups of coffee, |
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Putting you in cuffs. |
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You are the writer of a novel of pain, |
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Still no one understands |
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That you feel ashamed because - you keep it to yourself. |
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Keeping it to yourself. |
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You need a friend today, |
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But it never happens after knowing your name. |
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They say you have a distorted view on yourself, |
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But how can the view be anything else but wrong, |
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Hearing the same old song. |
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You put a lock on yourself, and try to throw the key so far away, |
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From all the demons and the grown ups, putting you in ****ing cuffs |
