Where is the place you go 

when you don't want to be found?

The place where your mask won't show,

the place that's void of any sound. 

It is here that is the place you hide,

the place through hell you can cope

But all that matters is what's inside,

because under the chains is a bleeding hope. 

The burning passion dies to a dim light,

it doesn't die because it is weak,

but because it has no motivation to fight. 

It is hard to hope when it all seems so bleak. 

It's everywhere, it's even getting harder to write,

because everyday that goes on It's like I'm losing sight.