I am walking wounded,
Crawling about, trying to reach the door.
It's as though
I'm in a desert, yearning for a waterfall oasis
That surely hides behind the dunes.
I cannot stand, what's the point?
No point in going on,
No reason to care, to live, to lie, only to die.
Every time I pull myself up
I fall back down by unsympathetic demands.
They all want me to carry out their deeds.
They hate me when I refuse.
So I am not a favorite person.
Not even favored by society.
I am walking wounded,
Because my hurt has caught up to my body
And there isn't a leg of reason as to why
I am made to suffer,
Made to endure.
There is not hope for I, always will I be
Walking wounded.