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.