oh, don't tell me.
 you know i know.
 i've seen the blood trails underneath
  all you wear to conceal,
  and i've heard you crying
  when other people said
  you should have been singing.
 but i knew better:
  the scarred face of your life
  is the scarred face of here.
 empty, broken, desolate here,
  where the only songs sung
  are of other times and places,
  back before the first hurts
  and those godforsaken latest
  goodbyes