I was proud of myself for once,
and everyone knows how rare that is,
and I hoped that you would be too
but you weren't, not that I know of.

So it's back to the bottle I go.
My emotions shuffle in one by one,
sealed with a cork.
I'll throw the bottle out at sea,
hope to god it doesn't return,
but I think the bottle acts as a boomerang,
or maybe I threw it out too soon,
because it always comes back.

It mutates when it returns,
some big monster just waiting,
waiting behind the glass
for me to mess up,
for me to fall apart,
for me to unleash him
so he can do his job.

And I'm tired of accepting defeat
because now, all I am is weak
and where will that get me?
I'll never reach my peak.
So I'll fight for the weak,
fight for the lonely,
fight for the obsolete
because no one else will,
and I'd hate to see another
fall in my path.

Maybe then you'll be proud.
You will, won't you?