Burning lights full of things I cannot even hope to acquire
Shining eyes filled with things we cannot speak of, things we must keep cloaked with the veil of secrecy
I wish, I long for laughter that is real, that is not forced
But hope is only one of my many precious little dreams
In me, in the heart I own only lays a empty contentment, a loneliness I should never speak of
And we walk on, pretending that the feelings we own are ones they wish us to feel
And not of ones that pierce our hearts with daggers of sorrow
In us, is the song we sing in silence
In us, our secrets we shall never whisper
In us, lays the truth