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Description
So much for freedom of speech,
We tame our tongues
And hide in silence.

We lock ourselves behind closed doors,
Crying in a blank room that yields no sympathy,
No compassion.

We hold it inside
Until we break down and the water comes surging through the breach,
And tears fall.

There's tape across our mouths,
Forbidden to voice out our pains,
Because no one cares anyway.

Not the first,
She's too wrapped up in her own life
To care about that of others.

Not the second,
She's too surrounded by a melodrama that is self-created and completely fictitious
To see what's real around her.

Not the third,
She's too overwhelmed by her sorrow
To open her eyes to the possibility of hope.

Not the fourth,
He's too busy saving the world
To save his own fellowship.

Not the fifth,
She's lost in a world of flowers and sunshine
To face the darkness behind her.

Not the sixth,
He quietly sits at his desk, watching it all unfold,
But does nothing.

Not the seventh,
He plays his guitar, and fills the air with music
But music doesn't change anything.

This is not a condemnation letter,
This is a frustrated plea,
For something to give.

This is my right to freedom of speech,
And I don't care what pessimism this inflicts,
Or what consequences this may bring.

Because nobody's going to save us anyway,
And I'm losing hope,
And time's just winding down 'til something explodes.

With a bang.

Description
So much for freedom of speech,
We tame our tongues
And hide in silence.

We lock ourselves behind closed doors,
Crying in a blank room that yields no sympathy,
No compassion.

We hold it inside
Until we break down and the water comes surging through the breach,
And tears fall.

There's tape across our mouths,
Forbidden to voice out our pains,
Because no one cares anyway.

Not the first,
She's too wrapped up in her own life
To care about that of others.

Not the second,
She's too surrounded by a melodrama that is self-created and completely fictitious
To see what's real around her.

Not the third,
She's too overwhelmed by her sorrow
To open her eyes to the possibility of hope.

Not the fourth,
He's too busy saving the world
To save his own fellowship.

Not the fifth,
She's lost in a world of flowers and sunshine
To face the darkness behind her.

Not the sixth,
He quietly sits at his desk, watching it all unfold,
But does nothing.

Not the seventh,
He plays his guitar, and fills the air with music
But music doesn't change anything.

This is not a condemnation letter,
This is a frustrated plea,
For something to give.

This is my right to freedom of speech,
And I don't care what pessimism this inflicts,
Or what consequences this may bring.

Because nobody's going to save us anyway,
And I'm losing hope,
And time's just winding down 'til something explodes.

With a bang.