DEPRESSED.
Feel like it's stamped on my forehead.
Do they know?
I'm such a try hard.

Mask your face with a thick shroud,
Pour your black heart on the ground.

I've seen it tattooed on her arms,
She didn't use ink.
I almost gave my legs a third-degree fresco,
Playing with petrol.

Smile away, fool ‘em all;
The realm of indefinity calls.