My eyes keep rolling back into a perfect sky
I've learnt to become the silent passerby
My steps become a lullaby
Night is not the time to cry

I'll just keep passing by
Won't look you in the eye
Won't ask you for the time
The bus is not the place to cry

My hands are weak they will not grip
They cannot wave or point or rip
Hanging limply by my side
Screaming out loud is not the way to cry