They only see the good side of things;

the happy, the right, the glad.

They don’t see the darkness of a broken world.

Were there is only pain, and hurt, and sad.

They don’t know how to hate, to need, to bleed.

Seeming like angels in a hall of demons.

They don’t have the problems of you and me.

The blood, like a drug, flowing from our veins.

That’s all they see;

the happy, the bright, the glad.

Alone in the darkness of a broken world;

of pain, and hurt, and sad.