A battle is the goal, but apathy, it takes you and grinds you into a filtered mind
And idle time, it's true, it grabs you like a stronghold curse, and teases you with a breakthrough, too
And jealousy, it's true, when blue looks different from my brush, but we all use the same brand ink
And holidays aren't enough to clear the space, and space is all that I have to fill my foreign grace
And on my way to work, the bus is filled with vacant stares
The evidence of pain so rare
So everyone is numb, or everyone they hide it all, and I don't want to hear their falls