So many times before I sat there watching
Waiting, vegetating, it's so aggravating,
Waiting for this hell to freeze over.
I am in an ice box, I guess that's good as long
As it's inside a place I live, because then at least
I get to pace around or dream as is.
You sit there patting me on the head like I'm a stupid dog,
*"There there, you'll get over your dreams. We all had to
At one point."* I'm supposed to just sit here and feel golden,
This my darkest hour, the only thing I have left is that
I'm here where I can be a "pretty flower," but still I feel
I have no future with all of my dreams stolen.
I would give anything but to feel the fires of youth and life,
Now I get to be whatever else and poor as I am "free."
One man's trash is another man's treasure, indeed...