I'm selfish, they're telling I'm taking too much
I'm helpless, trying to speak but I always get hushed
falling down, asking for help but making no sound
living through emptiness six feet under the ground

They offer their condolences, for all of the dreams they had murdered
but the past had passed, what used to be yelled is now murmured
whispers are left to die on the streets, where words are knives
and the never ending lies is what they call their lives

I'm ******, clinging to a piece of thought
and by the urban hunters I am being sought
they hung a picture me, that they had perceived
they tore the skin, and realized they were deceived

Not all who glitter, are happy souls
not all that glitters, is gold
wildfire will **** a forest but never the trees
they will hang until a gust of wind, brings them back their seeds