If only these walls that I built, could talk,
From this ivory tower that prevents me to be set free.
If they whispered to you each bitter tale of sorrow,
Then my friend, do you think you could see?
For each page inside, is locked within.
Covered in dust; on top the highest bookshelf.
And if you could read,
All the stories made out of me,
Could you then try to understand yourself?
Some pains are meant to be hidden,
Left with few chances for us to share,
And as we tend to the broken wounds of our battles,
We silently label them, "Please Handle With Care."
But if you wait patiently at our threshold;
Knock ever so softly upon our door...
The cracks in our wall,
May eventually fall,
Leaving hope, where there was none before.
