How many of us live each day as our own true self?
This world has taught us to put our feelings upon a shelf.
I just want to always be me and no one else.
Everyday I look up to the sky
And ponder when and where and how and why.
Secretly wishing that I could fly
Thoughts of existence and the day that I will die.
What could any of this even mean?
How can I be sure its not just a dream?
Going to bed is such a fight
When I stare at my ceiling every single night
As my mind races at the speed of light
Retrace my steps am I wrong or right? Wrong or right?
I want to figure out why we are here
Are we alone on this blue and green sphere?
The meaning of life is a lie
We're here to eat sleep fuck and die.
It's in the nature of my very being
To question each and everything.
I do not believe in a god up above
So I put my faith in the ones I trust and love.
Feeling helpless sometimes I just sit and stare
Happy days have become so rare.
How come no one else even seems to care
Our mind and its thoughts are our burden to bare.
Save me from this self defeating state
Am I the only one that thinks existence isn't great?
