Plagued by self-doubt and insecurity.
Can't have a voice without making a sound.
Every sound mars the silent purity.
Another song, another inch in the ground.
I'm not sane enough to be normal.
I'm not crazy enough to be genius.
I'm too married to be hormonal.
It's too late to be somebody.
I'm too damaged to be daring.
This will never amount to anything,
but then I'm used to being cool and no one caring.
Plagued by self-doubt and insecurity.
What do I care? My genius is likely behind me.
The absence of love filled with unfortunate self-pity.
Contrary to popular belief, pain conquers all.