When your paving new roads of living But your own blood brings back the past like it’s a beautiful scrapbook Pointing and adding their own comments like it's something new
But living In a trash bag will suffocate you.
You're the inconvenience at the bottom of that trash bag Except they treat you like a silver spoon Then realize you're merely a used plastic knife
And living in a trash bag will suffocate you.
They assume all your thoughts and feelings Because you're dead to them And bringing to your grave nothing but fists and bad attitudes
Being dead can't hurt you.
But unfortunately I'm in the bottom of the black trash bag Along with immature arguments And stinging comments
The fight I've put up hasn't been enough Hopefully one day they’ll recycle this trash bag to become something new again.