Sometimes I feel I was born too soon,
That I missed the days that I would excel.
This world's too fast for me, it blows by like a dusty wind that makes it hard to see.

One hundred years ago I'd be soldier,
Two hundred years ago id be a farmer.
Simplistic ideals and actions for non simplistic men, real work for real reasons.

Working part time is better than nothing I know, but god I feel as if I'm wasted.
This world is one of waste, in food, in water, in everything. But not back then.

So long ago a man would be used up or else he wouldn't be used, work or die.
Today we are offered an inbetween that holds us both, physically and emotionally.

I wish I could go back when it was all decided for me from day one, no choice.
I don't know what I want to do, and it's that freedom that's holding me back, the choice.