All I can say for sure is that it hurts when you sing and it hurts when you don't sing. When you don't sing, the world settles inside you like a metropolis made of feather. When you sing, there are bricks of light dabbed with eternal cement flying everywhere, and nothing stands on nothing. When you sing, you hurt—you hurt those you adore and you just plain hurt.
When you sing, you have no excuses but your song.
When you sing, you hate noise. When you sing, it's beauty or silence.
And—at long last—if you insist on singing, the rest of the world is going to teach you when to shut up for a minute.