I closed that box months before,
I locked it twice and hid the keys,
I thought I didn't need it, so I tried to go and leave it,
But I didn't know the box was made of me.

I let my heart be buried,
I left my brain to dry,
I left my skin as my only defense,
I let myself forget to cry.

The locks weren't broken,
But the keys weren't right
I couldn't get my box open,
I couldn't find a way to fight.

They say it's all the stuff of legends,
That fairytales weren't made for me,
But I'd give my heart to pigeons,
Before I'd let you let me bleed.

I have belief in kinds of God,
A particular illustrated faith,
But they didn't tell me when I got shot,
That praise wouldn't save me from pain.

It's 2 a.m. it's quiet,
It's 3 a.m. it's me,
It's 4 a.m. I'm crying
It's 4 p.m. This can't be 'free'.

The box gets easier to carry,
Though the box is heavier than me,
But I made it my responsibility,
To carry it for me.