you may say I am strong
but you are so very wrong
I've only learnt over years
ways to disguise my tears
so when I travel down road
I smile and keep spirit cold
and the beggar on the street
envies me thinking I am neat
for the most of human history
I have carried a load of misery
how do I cope with this infirmity
in a mad world, I fight for sanity
how much longer must I hide
my pains, this discontented tide
that I too hunger to be loved
not glad with all I've achieved
so throughout all of my existence
must I play this role of sentience?
Even my heart I'm not allowed to pry
oh please, where do men go, to cry?
