I sit back and watch everyone go by.
Wondering who will stop and question why I cry.
Who will take the time to ask whats wrong?
If I could form the words, my feelings would become a slow, heart tugging song.
Write till my pen goes out of fluid; till the ballpoint runs out.
Until I find a way for all to see what Im thinking about.
And it amazes me how crazily this life passed me by.
And Im stuck wondering if you see me cry.
If you continue to pass me by, will you see the disguise.
The painted face I put up.
The world has me shook up.
Cuz Im constantly dreaming for the day, where I can be me.
To get away from the Misinterpretation of Me.
To be free.
Completely.
And run around through the breeze.
Neutral isnt working.
Have to move ahead from this pain.
Im surprised how many times my heart has been shattered but still holds on.
And although it isnt completely healed; I know it wont be before long.
Trying to find me. The real me.
Cuz shes sick and tired of the lying and crying she goes through.
So if you find her, Ill tell you what exactly you should do.
No confrontation, consolation, its passed that time.
Just converstaion, ventilation, so she can breathe just fine.
Cuz Ive been trying to find her through all the rubble and the pain shes been through.
You would probably feel the same if it was the Misinterpretation of You...