| Though my bloodshot eyes
|
| I look at my altar of grief and despair
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| A progeny of misdemeanor
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| Pen and paper are my hands
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| To write the anguish down
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| All the words that I buried in my heart
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| Incapable to tell a soul
|
| Even as they hurt me like a blade
|
| I stood the tirade
|
| Even as sorrow turned to agony
|
| I didn’t give my testimony
|
| Distressed and upset, I hit rock bottom
|
| However my lips were sealed
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| Sealed with ridiculous subterfuges
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| I turned into my own sacrifice
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| To free me from this burden
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| This letter is written to no one
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| No one but myself
|
| This is my catharsis
|
| Cure from my disease
|
| Destroying the malignant growth
|
| That bothered me so long
|
| Words I couldn’t speak
|
| Words from within my heart
|
| Able to tear me apart
|
| Hagridden by the inner urge
|
| To express what nobody’s meant to know
|
| All the words that I buried in my heart
|
| Incapable to tell a soul
|
| Even as they hurt me like a blade
|
| I stood the tirade
|
| Even as sorrow turned to agony
|
| I didn’t give my testimony
|
| All my distress — All the tears
|
| That no one saw in all those years
|
| Behind a mask — I hid my fears
|
| How can I clarify my soul from those memories
|
| Without losing face — Being judged for these?
|
| This is my catharsis
|
| Cure from my disease
|
| Destroying the malignant growth
|
| That bothered me so long
|
| Words I couldn’t speak
|
| Words from within my heart |