And covered with a perfect shell
Such a charming beautiful exterior.
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes and perfect posture
But you're barely scraping by, but you're barely scraping by.
It was the only thing she could do to keep her composure. She continued to twist the small piece of cloth in her hands till her knuckles began to turn white. She was a façade of normalcy. Very stoic and calm. Very understanding toward the family, they came first of course because they buried their son, not her lover.
But this wasn’t the first time she refused to feel any sympathy to these people.
That you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone
Or anyone at all, or anyone at all
She tossed her flowers as she kneeled down to his waiting grave. She had stashed one rose just for her own keeping for a reason still unknown to her in her car. She stood behind his mother she had come to deeply hate but she was keenly aware of keeping good appearances up for they all thought she was delicately beautiful with her olive tanned skin and brown hair she had thought rather bland and boring. But despite her thoughts, she kept her hair color the same to the liking of her late fiancé who supposedly loved her for everything she had, even her dull brown hair and beautiful eyes of golden cinnamon. She loved him when he told her how beautiful she was.
And that was what scared her the most.
She played this person in which someone had to tell her that she was beautiful. And it scared her to no ends sometimes waking her up in her sleep. But this was nothing new, for when he was gone from her, she was scared and sad except for his letters and cards that he sent every week signaling his waning time of service for the U.S. government. She hated the government. They had killed him although if she really wanted to get technical, the insurgent that had blindsided them with a car bomb set to go off by a trigger nearby killed him. And there was the fact that he had proudly in scripted into the army with free will. She never forgot the argument she had before he left. It wasn’t the fact that it was the last contact she had face to face with him that bothered her the most, it was the fact that she pondered whether it truly was his decision.
The refuge that you’ve built to flee
The places that you’ve come to fear the most
Is the place that you have come to fear the most
“He served his country proudly. I’d never feel any more pride than one of my sons dying for the army.” He said. He had been a splitting image of the man that stood there, his father. She couldn’t take it as her heart rose and she threw him the most hateful of glares he had compared to the Iraqis he fought in the Gulf War.
Hidden in the public eye
Such a stellar monument to loneliness
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes and perfect makeup
But you're barely scraping by, but you're barely scraping by
“What do you mean you could never feel anymore pride than him dying for his country. What good is he to us dead!” she exclaimed near tears. She stalked over to him as people that once began walking to their cars turned around. The peoples’ faces were painted in surprise and disbelief. This girl, this lovely girl with a beautiful face and perfect job. This beautiful girl so entranced with religion and respect, this beautiful girl…mad at who did not cause his death?
That you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone
Or anyone at all, or anyone at all.
Her pumps were large enough not to sink into the soft ground as she stalked over to the father then to stand face to face looking up at him like a midget instead of a human.
“You think the country loved him more or me! What do you think because I don’t know anymore! He died for this country and you are proud? What did he die for? Some Southern idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing? You,” she said poking him in the chest, “tell me what my fiancé died for because, because-“she turned quickly biting her lip violently and walked away wrapping the small black shawl around her body and heading toward her car. The wind played with her brown curls throwing them gently around in the wind.
She slipped in the car and broke down and cried. She cried for herself and him. She cried for the families. She cried for everything that was her past and what could have been. This agonizing state called grief was heart wrenching. It broke through her ice cold walls inside and tore her to pieces.
Hours passed before she could even think clearly. That was when she went beside his grave and took the rose she had accepted earlier that day at the wake. She placed the rose beside the grave and closed her eyes.
“I love you Nick Carter.”
Everyone or anyone at all, or anyone at all
The grave that you refuse to leave
The refuge that you’ve built to flee
The places that you’ve come to fear the most
Is the place that you have come to fear the most
Is the place that you have come to fear the most
