Some call it insecure,
Some call it oppression.
I like to tell people,
I've got depression.

And maybe all I'm asking for is to finally be heard,
Maybe all I want is to hear a comforting word.
And maybe all is left is to be buried in the ground,
At least then I wouldn't annoy anyone.
I won't even make a sound.

Some call it joy,
Some call it rest.
Some call it judgment,
Some call it the final test.

And maybe all I'm asking for is someone to hear my cry,
Maybe I'm stuck in a bad place and I don't know why.
And maybe all I want is for God to take me home,
Maybe I just finally don't want to feel alone.

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