There doesn't seem to be a focal point,
There's no finish line to this race,
Only chaotic centrifuge,
Putting everything in it's place.

No instructions have been written,
But an empty journal's on the shelf,
Does anyone know my purpose,
I just can't find it by myself.

Not one part fits with another,
The only similarity seems to be me.
And I can't blend it all together,
And it's a struggle just to be.

Maybe there is no right place,
Or instance where I belong.
I thought that time would clarify,
But I was so very wrong.

One hand is on the door,
The other holds too tight,
My head lies with another,
And hope goes on tonight.

Day breaks again to remind me,
This cycle may not break,
And I don't know whether to give
Or whether I should just take.

There is no difference really,
It all just feels the same,
Who am I kidding anyway?
My life's become a game.