i sit and wait every day
for someone to ask a question
who is this? what are you?
it's like repeat progression

they ask and ask for hours
i don't know how they have a voice left
they laugh and talk all evening
voices a heavy heft

if i was on the other side
asking me what they do
i'd bored myself to tears by now
i would've been so blue

the truth is i could tell them
i could write down what i am
but i'm afraid of how they'll react
to how i truthfully don't give a ****

sometimes i wake up wondering
if they'll ever really know
if a passing glance or a laughing face
is how the story will go

or do i tell them in my rage
drunk out of my mind
standing on the rooftop
calling out for a sign

i wanna scream my lungs out
it makes me wanna cry
i need to yell from the rooftops
until my throat is dry

my identity makes me nausea
it makes me wanna cry
they'll never be happy with me
until i ******* die