They talk about the spaces between the words
Like the pain only hides there.
The last thing she said,
Nobody heard.

We talk without end,
So the silence doesn't get us.
We talk of trifles and outrage and God,
But never what we need to say.

Then it seems like we can't talk
For fear we'll say the wrong thing.
That we'll ruin something we only imagine we had.

Fact is, we can.
We will.
Someone has to speak their mind
Before they lose it.

Throw it away really,
For you can't accidentally let go of your mind.
You leave it because you want to,
Just as people throw away relics that don't suit them.
If I'm the only one not scared
To say what has to be said,
So be it.

And I'd do it again.

I'd admit it eats me up.
That I nearly tore myself apart.
I'd cry when no-one was looking
And come up with a smile.

I'd raise a toast to the day before it's gone
And laugh at Misery himself.
He can take what he wants,
But he'll never get my soul.

The trick is to be glib,
To be wry and rude and uncanny.
You have to be yourself
Especially in those times it seems like you can't,
Because nobody else will.