Sometimes we cry, late at night, those silent tears that are so bright.
We cry and cry and wish to shut the mind that is torturing us all the night.
We wish to sleep, we wish to die.
We just keep hurting the silent pleading eyes.
The next day we say, everything is all right ,
Just a bad dream, nothing much.
But every night is a repeating history.
And it becomes so much for so long, you can't take it.
We become the broken spirit that cries,
The broken words that are sang,
The beautiful eyes that cry.
And no one knows, maybe even after you die.