The Weight of the World

There's a groan from the weight of the world on your shoulders.
There's the sound of the past in the air,
and the whistling breeze that blows you to your knees
is always there.

Everyday when you barely pull your head off the pillow,
everyday when the din just gets too loud,
and the wishing you did, all the weeping you hid
come back around:

Just look for me and I'll be there.
Write it all down and toss it all up in the air,
and for once just tell them all that you don't care
and take the weight of the world and lay it down.

Late at night when there's no one there to lean your head on,
late at night when there's no one up for you to call,
and you're wondering still, with all of your will, why you fall.

When the day leaves you nothing much to count on,
but when a new day is the only thing you're hoping for,
and all the praying you've done for a war you might have won is nothing more:


We reek of pretention
and we hide underground.
We cry, "oh holy, holy, holy, may we be found."


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