Worn

How much abuse can a heart take,
before the seams bulge and break?
Why is it that tears never seem,
enough to wash the wounds clean?
Repairs are never made fast enough,
no matter how quick, they never keep up.
For the wounds just keep coming,
in the dark hours, I feel like I missed the morning.
But why should the light care,
how well that I fare?
it didn't before,
why change the score?
Why would the people start to notice?
especially when they did all this.
Why would my love give a f**k?
to help my heart get unstuck.
Just another hammer blow,
to the dust they should all know,
they should recognize true and well,
for it's the stroke that sent me to hell.
From me they have all taken away,
the life I could have had someday.
My pride is cold from long dead,
my soul is long underfed.
The price I can no longer pay,
so everything they just take away.
Life so cruel, so cold,
Goddamn this is getting old.