I'm not that good at telling why,
I lay down at night to cry and cry.
It's because the thoughts I have are not my own.
They belong to all the folks I've known.
I don't mind them saying why,
They've tried more than twice to die.
I try not to tremble when,
They tell me what bad men did to them.
I never judge,
I never scorn.
Who would do that,
To the forlorn?
But sometimes there are boundaries crossed,
And people seem to get a bit lost.
There are some people who can talk to me,
And the rest, who really shouldn't be.
It used to be I'd ask them why,
They looked as though they were going to cry.
Now they tell me every day.
Is it wrong I want it to go away?
I have no room to think my own,
I have no place to be alone.
Home or away, it follows me,
The grief of those who want to flee.
I feel for them, I really do.
But now I don't know what to do.
My head explodes with all their woe,
And leaves no space for mine to go.
It's woe for them, just so you know,
Woe for all the pain they show.