I became accustomed to
a kind of social servitude
and no one, I mean no one,
could accept what I had become.
Selfish, bitter, weak.
Enough to make you sick.
And lately, I've been feeling
there are bits of life I'm stealing.
Get me home.
At times it seems I will not help
but it's just that I must save myself
from fear that blankets like mist,
on an optimist who insists
It's the simple things that crush,
and I'm crying far too much,
so much so that I'm thinking
my control on life is shrinking.
There's a light on in my head
and I'm thinking what I said.
All the freedom in my brain,
I'm alright now, I'm just thinking what to say.
Sorry doesn't seem to wash
when there's truths around that I have quashed
and no one, I mean no one,
can depress me more than I can.
So does that make me weak
or should that make me sick?
But lately I've been feeling
that I'm gonna give up breathing.
There's a light on in my head
and I'm thinking what I said.
All the fever in my brain,
I'm alright now, I can even take the pain.
There's a light on in my head
and I'm thinking what I said.
All the fever in my brain,
I'm alright now, I can even take the pain.