So cold is the loneliness,
So bitter and sweet is solitude,
So warm is the presence of another.
But what a fool I was,
For believing I could be brave.
What a fool I was.
A coward is all I am,
I can’t even speak the words I hold inside.
So broken they sound,
Till on paper,
And they become a symphony,
A silent song.
Always, always,
I find myself alone.
Always, always,
I beg for solitude.
It hurts, it hurts,
The burning flames.
It hurts, it hurts,
The stinging cold void.
What a fool I was,
For believing I could be brave.
What a fool I was.
So cold is the loneliness,
So bitter and sweet is solitude,
So warm is the presence of another.
Is it a lie?
A curse placed upon me.
For why, why,
Does it all hurt.
Yet I cannot speak the words,
The words to set me free.
For my voice is rusted,
My courage weak.
I can’t even speak the words I hold inside.
So broken they sound,
Till on paper,
And they become a symphony,
A silent song.
A plea,
A story,
A hope,
A simple word.
Always, always,
I can never speak out loud to you.
Always, always
I find myself alone.
Always, always,
I beg for solitude.
A cycle of pain,
That will never end.
A torment upon my fragile heart,
My already broken form.
So cold is the loneliness,
So bitter and sweet is solitude,
So warm is the presence of another.
But what a fool I was,
For believing I could be brave.
What a fool I was.
A coward is all I am,
I can’t even speak the words I hold inside.
It hurts, it hurts,
The burning flames.
It hurts, it hurts,
The stinging cold void.
All the bottled-up thoughts,
The countless undistorted words,
The screaming emotions.
It all hurts, it hurts,
All the things I can’t say,
All those moments together and alone.
What a fool I was,
For believing I could be brave.
What a fool I was.
A coward is all I am,
I can’t even speak the words I hold inside.
So broken they sound,
Till on paper,
And they become a symphony,
A silent song.
My cry,
My scream,
A plea,
A story,
My hope,
A simple word,
A complex thought,
My nameless emotions.
So many things,
Yet also none.
So lost, so lost,
Is my heart,
My broken form.
I cry, I cry,
Always for things I can’t describe,
Always for reasons I can’t speak.
So cold is the loneliness,
So bitter and sweet is solitude,
So warm is the presence of another.
Oh, how easily it can become reversed.
So bitter, so sweet,
So warm, so cold,
Is my time here.
Still what a fool I was,
For believing I could be brave.
For thinking I could change it,
For even hoping.
What a fool I was,
What a fool I still am,
A bittersweet fool;
