Trapped inside a prison, Of lack of things to do. I’d rather shoot myself than live, In walls of painted blue. A dartboard on the wall, A bookshelf and a bed. Yet I’ve done it all before, I just wish my walls were red. If I were somewhere else, With the wind in my hair, Would this boredom go away? Or would I stick to my chair? I blame the dullness on life, But it doesn’t come from trees. I scream at walls to entertain, While I watch my laughter freeze.