There is a powerful truth
To being used to sadness
Used to hurt, used to despair and grief
Loss of friends, loss of lovers
Loss of children and mothers
Of a sense of security in routine things
Lives comforted by the mundane
The simple kiss of sunshine on your face
In the dead of darkest winter
Accustomed to the noise of the wailing
That is the curse of humanity
So aware of misery
Of mistakes and things that shouldn't happen
But they do
And we hurt because we've seen joy
We hurt because we know pleasure
Because we seek patterns where none dare to exist
Aching to embrace monotony
Spontaneous action prophesied our demise
So we sit in silence while suffering
Aching to do we know not what
But it isn't this
It isn't this
