Here, have a dime, My two cents by Five: You're not that sublime When it comes to being alive.
You slam some door and claim your might; Not impressed by how you've dared To shut the doors and scream to fight; You're the kid that's truly scared
Of all the things you can't control, All the things you'll never know; Not fear nor anger will fill that hole; Even roots must break dirt to grow.
You're stuffed in far too small a space; Cramped wings find no room to fly; Sometimes I wish you'd have the grace To just let go and simply cry.
So much lost in the fear of being wrong; A self-fulfilling prophecy in every song, when in point of fact: There's more to life than being strong; Your inner child's got a cataract.
You're the match that sets yourself aflame, Because somedays you still need to feel; Anything less would be far too tame In this search for something real.
All I know of timeless wealth Is how to give a loving hand; We have to be the one to see ourself, but By your side I Truly stand.
To speak of what's true: If every fear is just projection Then if I am to question you Surely I speak to my own reflection.