he walks alone
he stands alone
to terrify, he is alone

he shuts himself
within his room
to laugh or cry, he is alone

to speak it out
he writes a song
with every line, he is alone

to keep from carving
hate in blood
inside the lie, he is alone

he can't seem to find the words that work
but he knows he needs to say these things
so he tries to make it sound poetic
'cause maybe then it'll speak his pain

he's afraid no one could ever understand
that no one could truly penetrate his thoughts
so he builds a wall to keep himself from the world
and hopes no one tries to climb it

sometimes he finds the right music
and sometimes he thinks he's used those chords too much
but he tries and tries to get it all right
to satisfy at least himself with his work

the cries of the separated soul
trying desperately to connect with the world
reflect through his music how he feels inside
and leaves impressions on the audience

they come away with a sense of something profound
something enormous and terrifying
a monster that strikes a chasm between worlds
to keep the hopeless away from hope

they don't know what it is they feel
they think maybe it's a sense of gifted music
perhaps it's the music, they say
it strikes a chord with me, they say

it connects with their hearts, but they don't comprehend
it tugs at their minds, but they don't pay attention
it draws their very souls toward the chasm
begging for them to build a bridge, but they ignore it

the monster laughs, he keeps the hopeless apart
his mission accomplished, he is satisfied
the world is too busy to help a lost soul
he knows they won't step out of their comfort zones

the hopeless cry, but are not heard
they scream and shout within themselves
but no one is there to hear them
no one is willing to forsake comfort to help them

eventually, they fade into dust
but no one notices, too busy caught up with their own lives
the hopeless lose hope, love, and life
they forget about ever being free, because they've lost hope

the world can help, but it's too busy
the world can bridge the gap, but it doesn't have time
someone could care about these lost souls and help
but no one has time for caring or helping

so, fading away, they leave behind some things
memoirs of their minds and souls
art in every form imaginable under the sun
left behind to remind the world of what they missed

the songs may never be sung or heard
the paintings, never gazed upon
the poetry never read or appreciated
but it waits to speak lost thoughts to hearts