The Things You've Heard
You're too little, now, to understand
why he cries alone in bed.
It will be a long time before you know
why he would rather be dead.
But even now you hear
what goes on beyond the door.
The hushed cries of a boy
who doesn't fight anymore.
Curled up and alone beneath your covers
you listen and you wait.
Over the years this is the spot
in which you learn to hate.
Hate the man who sees your brother
and knows of his devotion.
Hate the man who uses your brother
and takes advantage of that emotion.
Because how good of a man could he be
to make that boy cry?
How good of a man could he be
to make that boy lie?
And when the noises stop he will be back
and he'll lay down beside you without a word.
He'll pull you in close and never let go
and you'll forget all the things you've heard.