They're happy for us to keep it inside,
Our fear is our own; they don't want to know,
Why should we involve them; why should it show.
You live your whole life in confusion and fear,
The need to feel something unbearably near,
Half of you living, Half of you gone,
And inside you know what your doing is wrong.
The thing's that can help, the thing's that may heal,
Are the flame or the blade and the sting of the steel,
The destruction of skin means the death of your soul,
But there's nowhere to run when your living alone.