Band-Aid/Tradition of Silence
West Beverly
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Yesterday I saw the way you cry
Pouring it all inside
And the weight of your problems rose
But how you got to bed you'll never know
Crooked band-aid, 8 year old's first aid
On the cuts the shattered dish made
Cause you couldn't stand and you couldn't walk
Nighttime vigil, woke up in my bed
I fell asleep I guess, but nothings said
No, nothings said today
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Yesterday I carried you upstairs
(at least that's what I could swear)
Cause today the band-aid's gone
And nothing has been said no nothing's wrong
Nothing's ever wrong, right?