Simple

Simple

I see so many faces of tired boys, I imagine their hearts like Worn baseball gloves, Holding on to detonating emotions Held against the chest, Maybe to save a buddy, Maybe to save themselves From the hell of coming home To spit and venom, I know that there is no peace Until hell's been visited And the demons have Done their dance inside this mind, This life Like a tribe of indians Around the fires of imagination, Reality, But what is real in this life Of velveteen love and Charred hope... It's all very simple, No, Really...