I am sick of all the deceit
All the things we tell ourselves
To make the day end
I am sick

Its never going to be enough for them,
It will not ever reach over the rainbow,
There is no *** of gold
Only a bowl full of ***  
And that’s all you’ll get

So fire up, put on your IRL shoes
And blow with the breeze,
Look at the little things that make you survive

Find whatever makes you feel complete
And darling, I think that just might

Just might,

Be you