Itís the boy in the black,
With the hat turned slightly to the left.
His left, our right.
The one that always says the right things,
At the precise moment itís needed.
The one that gets you to melt into his hands.
Heís the one that always laughs,
And interrupts the teacher
To say some irrelevant joke.
Until smiles fill the room.
But inside his head,
Itís all so different.
The world is dead.
They all knew that there was something off.
Something was eating him up inside.
But they never knew how deep the problem lay.
Hidden in the heart of this punk boy
His demons fed on his terror.
He drank it all down.
All the pain, all the harm.
His vision was blurred.
One second blue, the next it was black.
Before he knew it, he was on the floor
The boy met concrete, and became good friends.
They all heard the stories,
And couldnít believe it was true.
How could the perfect guy,
Hurt so much on the inside?
They all wanted to help.
To lend the outstretched hand.
But they didnít know
How the punk boy didnít want their help
Didnít want to talk.
But how he needed their help.
They said that theyíve always loved the punk boy
They said that theyíve always loved the punk boy.
But he knows that Iíve always loved the boy.