Sep 14
How should I say it? "Good morning, afternoon, evening!"?
Why should I even bother? You won’t listen anyway
Don't call me lazy, irrational, or a loser—you’re the one who have no idea what I’m dealing with
That woman—yeah, the one who told me to stop asking questions—what gives her the right? I’ll ask all I want. Who the hell are you?
"You should know who you are," you throw back at me, but what do you even know? Stop pretending like you understand
You tell me to sit here every morning, like I owe you something
And I should be grateful? Hungry? Thirsty? Is that what you want from me?
So I’m supposed to starve just to please you? To earn money just to sit here and feed you?
You think I want to live like this, always under your thumb, afraid of losing what little I have?
It’s a waste of time, all of it—you, this place, everything!
I complain, but it’s not because of you? Don’t fool yourself
And don’t even get me started on your scent. It’s revolting, always has been
Ever since I was a kid, something about you made my skin crawl
My head pounds, my legs ache, my whole body’s screaming in pain—and for what? The moment I try to reach for you, the relief is fleeting—a joke!
"When your mother dies, you should call me mother." What kind of sick twist is that?
Why would I want that? Why would anyone?
I’d rather lose my mind than have to bow to you
Go ahead, say it: "Val, you’re crazy."
But you know me as Dita, don’t you? Of course you do
You’re always watching, always knowing, always controlling
It’s not fair! I don’t know you; no one really knows who or what you are, and yet you have the nerve to tell me to wait for time
Time is running out! Your one day drags on while my sixty slips away
I’m done asking. I’m done with all of it, with everything that woman said
She’s wrong, and so are you. I’ve never been servile; I’m just afraid of being dishonest because dishonesty brings worse consequences, doesn’t it?
But if I die, it won’t be for you. I’ll make sure of that
Stop picking up after me!
I don’t need your help; I don’t want it, and I don’t want you depending on me either
You always mutter, "I shouldn’t say it," like it’s some kind of secret
You don’t care about any of this! You don’t care about me or about us
You pretend you’re helping, but you’re not. You’re just making everything worse
All of it—what you see, what you eat, and what you present are all products of your imagination
How foolish I was to seek solace in nothingness
Oh demon, of course I will call you mother!
Why should I even bother? You won’t listen anyway
Don't call me lazy, irrational, or a loser—you’re the one who have no idea what I’m dealing with
That woman—yeah, the one who told me to stop asking questions—what gives her the right? I’ll ask all I want. Who the hell are you?
"You should know who you are," you throw back at me, but what do you even know? Stop pretending like you understand
You tell me to sit here every morning, like I owe you something
And I should be grateful? Hungry? Thirsty? Is that what you want from me?
So I’m supposed to starve just to please you? To earn money just to sit here and feed you?
You think I want to live like this, always under your thumb, afraid of losing what little I have?
It’s a waste of time, all of it—you, this place, everything!
I complain, but it’s not because of you? Don’t fool yourself
And don’t even get me started on your scent. It’s revolting, always has been
Ever since I was a kid, something about you made my skin crawl
My head pounds, my legs ache, my whole body’s screaming in pain—and for what? The moment I try to reach for you, the relief is fleeting—a joke!
"When your mother dies, you should call me mother." What kind of sick twist is that?
Why would I want that? Why would anyone?
I’d rather lose my mind than have to bow to you
Go ahead, say it: "Val, you’re crazy."
But you know me as Dita, don’t you? Of course you do
You’re always watching, always knowing, always controlling
It’s not fair! I don’t know you; no one really knows who or what you are, and yet you have the nerve to tell me to wait for time
Time is running out! Your one day drags on while my sixty slips away
I’m done asking. I’m done with all of it, with everything that woman said
She’s wrong, and so are you. I’ve never been servile; I’m just afraid of being dishonest because dishonesty brings worse consequences, doesn’t it?
But if I die, it won’t be for you. I’ll make sure of that
Stop picking up after me!
I don’t need your help; I don’t want it, and I don’t want you depending on me either
You always mutter, "I shouldn’t say it," like it’s some kind of secret
You don’t care about any of this! You don’t care about me or about us
You pretend you’re helping, but you’re not. You’re just making everything worse
All of it—what you see, what you eat, and what you present are all products of your imagination
How foolish I was to seek solace in nothingness
Oh demon, of course I will call you mother!
