What pain behind such glassy eyes that break at the break of dawn
That tell the tale of a soldier’s fight and sing the widow’s song.
What pain behind such glassy eyes that hide the deepest woes
Under the glare of a blinding sun so others never know.
What pain fills a quiet train where cries are silenced, too.
Where minds turned enemies fight the sane, of which so many lose.
What pain fills a quiet train, packed but filled with lone.
Where every soul craves others’ struggles in exchange of its own.
What pain is held in people so young that they’ve lived an entire life,
Yet always ignored and set aside because their years are much too slight.
What pain is held in people so young that it infects the days ahead,
When joy grows dull and laughter loses soul until the soul itself is dead.
