We’re not looking to create a scene, this is the daily routine that we live from day to day.
Just tryin’ to hid what’s deep inside, from coming back alive; please allow me to convey.
You see us sitting in the corner at a restaurant, at church or in the mall.
We are quiet, kinda private, as we stand with our back to the wall.
Sometimes our hat tells of a place, that we escaped; like a story from a history book,
White beaches and green jungles to deserts and hot pavement, oh the tasks we undertook.
The memories playing in our mind replay a time when the sounds and the smell,
Remind us the friends that didn’t come home, a page from the book to tell.
We scan the crowd we ain’t too proud and man the little things we see.
From joy to pain and even some insane, hard to explain I think you’ll agree.
Perhaps we look at others scared to discover what’s far down in our soul,
That the battle we are fighting everyday is the fight to keep in control.
When a baby cries, someone yells surprise we can’t disguise the pain this can cause.
The sweep of a broom, or a crowded room these all consume our mind as we pause.
Like old film that is fading sometimes degrading locked in our mind without degree,
Just another day in the life of a someone… living with PTSD…