Listen to this story of the ones with no voices.
Each lived their own lives, each made their own choices.
Unknown in this world, trapped in their world unknown.
This is a tale never heard, but a tale often told.


First in this story of the one’s with no voices.
He lived his own life, he made his own choices.
Unknown in this world, trapped in his world unknown.
This is a tale never heard, but a tale often told.

Just seventeen, he wanted everything
a perfect prodigy, or so it would seem
A flawless mask his face adorns
Truth telling scars scream of scorn.
His life just a dream, alive without purpose
The things he could do, if he were just fearless
He hides behind vanity, but who is he hiding from
Afraid to face himself, and sing lines never sung
He drives away from himself tonight
Leaving behind his desire to fly
Turns up the music until it drowns
The voices again, but still his heart pounds
He plays the tracks he wrote to sing
but never shared what they mean
His voice cracks with what he knows
as lyric telling of the unknown
With Disgrace his only company
he rolls the car, a desperate plea
The sirens sing a dying riff
“Here lies Zed, King of Lonely Cliff.”


Next in this story of the one’s with no voices.
She lived her own life, she made her own choices.
Unknown in this world, trapped in her world unknown.
This is a tale never heard, but a tale often told.

The mask she wore was a humble one
A quiet girl, either reserved or shunned
Whatever the case no one could hear
The written words, dripping with fear.
She did okay just living each day
Flashing a smile, beautiful yet fake
Then dying inside each lonely night
No one around to hear her plight
And with a pen she cries in ink
watching every pain and worry bleed
into the page, like a dark ocean shifts
creating rifts between plains of emptiness
And when she read the words she wrote
a part of her that no one knows
spoke to her of the unknown
a simple reminder she is not alone
With Shame as her only company
she rips the paper until she bleeds
Another story pools at her feet
“Here lies Aria, Queen of Defeat.”


Last in the story of the one’s with no voices.
He lived his own life, he made his own choices.
Unknown in this world, trapped in his world unknown.
This is a tale never heard, but a tale often told.

Others called him the Romanticist
Flattery enough for the world to kiss
Once they had him, they couldn't let go
Lost in his touch and his complete control
The dead of night only proved
He was left used and abused
Watching someone else lie by his side
Sound asleep while he’s screaming inside
Confused about love, sinking in doubt
So close to the feeling that he’s never felt
What was he missing when he “made love”
Soon enough he was all but numb
He had a room that no one would see
All his paintings of what he wanted to be
As his brush touches the canvas
He knows he could never change this
With Feign his only company
He drowns in a colorful sea
The image reveals a lonely grave
“Here lies Prince, Duke of Facades”

This was a story of the one’s with no voices.
Each lived their own lives, each made their own choices.
Unknown in this world, trapped in their world unknown.
A tale often told, but will it be heard?

A tale has been told, but will it ever be heard?
A tale has been told, but will it ever be heard?