It's Hard, but I'm Fine

my vernacular isn't nearly enough
to forfeit my feelings on doing it tough.
I'm used to the scratches, the oozes and bruises
and perhaps I'm used to feeling what someone else chooses
and maybe I'm happy to support and protect
I'm happy to see what no one else can detect.

i feel like a monster in a side-view freak show
never quite twisted to never have to know
but tantalisingly emotionless, painted, carved smiles
on top of the varnish of years of denials.
I'm used to being crushed, don't get me wrong
forgive the old bird, but this isn't a new song.

Just realise for me, that these are old and new troubles
and I see them only distantly, like memories of bubbles.
You've nothing to gain here, I'm always alright
I'm not so upset that I'll take up your night.
because the words in my vernacular aren't nearly enough
to detail to you that I'm fine doing it tough.