Oh, I'm so tired of pretending that I'm totally fine,
And you are there far away, like, come here—I need you by my side.
Oh, I am tired of singing when nobody hears my voice.
I'm so tired of being me, but it's who I have to be.
'Cause when everything was fine, did you have to challenge fate?
I can't afford to lose faith, even when nobody hears what I want to be.
'Cause when I need you, where are you
Are everywhere but by my side.
I don't believe in guys,
But I really am just a traitor.
Poetry shouldn't be explained,
At least not by the writer.
For as the strokes of an artist's brush,
So go the words of a poet's heart.
Oh, I'm so tired of being tired, being nobody, nowhere to be found.
When did this cave become so big that it caters even to my darkest thoughts?
When poetry explains itself, was it the poet's dream or the Oracle's fate?
Crawling, screaming, fitting through this rocky path,
The poet found himself framed by the lights.