You Heal What We Hide

Yeah. They show up every Sunday, hands lifted in the air.

Serving with a smile so no one sees the wear. They've learned to

keep on moving while their hearts are breaking slow. Saying, "I'm fine," could

trim the lips so no one ever knows. Not because they don't love you,

not beca- 'cause they lack belief. But fears built a fortress around our silent grief.

Afraid of being labeled, afraid of being sane. So they bury

all the questions underneath what looks like peace. For silence only weighs the soul.

And hidden wounds still take their toll. You never ask us to pretend.