On a scale of 1 to 10, how much did you care about my decisions?
Is it just me, or do I have no choice?
Other than walking these streets by myself.
This ain't the way (I'm caught up in this mess).
I want to live and choose my path anyway, everyday.
A part of me, wants to tell it all.
The stories are written in the back of my head.
I always thought I couldn't understand all the words I've made up.
And I was right.