It's easy, I sometimes think,

to believe the life I live is a lie,

that there's no reason to be sad or cry.

It's easy, especially in the lazy day,

to lay in the sun and ignore

all my troubles, to close my mind's door.

It's easy, to pretend that everything

is fine, that people actually care.

They don't just gawk and stare.

It's hard, I sometimes think,

that life continues to

beat me down, it's never through.

It's hard, especially in the lazy day,

to forget my strife

and just live life.

It's hard, to pretend that everything

never happened and it will

get better, cause I'm hurting still.