Underneath the swagger and charm,
there’s a soul who’s been harmed,
and the scars he carries in his heart
make it hard for him to build a new start.

Behind a fragile-looking shell,
there’s a soul who’s been through hell,
but she swears that they were wrong,
and promises herself that she’ll stay strong

Could these two hearts make a pair
if they happened to meet somewhere,
or would their pain just be too great
for them to change their lonesome fate?

But for their sake, I hope and pray
that there’s relief and healing on that day.

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I wonder while I’m wandering,
muse while I’m pondering
about the worth of it all,
about whether or not to answer the call.

For my despair sings a song,
seductively inviting me along
to the promise of a life,
to the promise of a knife.

Sheer stubbornness keeps me standing
before all that whispered demanding,
and the knowledge of what this end
will do to my family and my friends.

But knowing that, my weary grief
remains tempted by a promise of relief.

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