They each have their own vision.
Each lie acts an incision,
A mold into division.
They like to think they know her.

They’ve all made the decision
To bombard her with provisions,
But to her it’s just collision,
And it simply only slows her.

They like to think they know,
But on them rains down the joke,
Cause how can someone know a girl
Who’s lost sight of her own stroke
In time, continuing to choke.

I’ve heard it said that we must all
Walk to the beat of our own drum,
But what do you do when who you are
Is better than who you’ve become?