Another day.
Another day where I walk these same old halls,
these same stone walls, like it's  all that I've ever known,
where I am forced to live in skin that I've long since outgrown.
I hear the buzzing, the jeering,
the oppressive white noise bouncing off lockers
through the corridors till' they reach my ears and I...
know that I'm stuck here.
Between a rock and a system that thinks itself so big
that it can encompass my entire world,
that holds me tightly in it's curled fist,
that will insist on justice only when it suits them.

I see these people, my supposed peers,
walking these halls just like me,
clawing for some semblance of individuality,
chasing their dreams which will always be just
one more exam away until Graduation Day.
When we're unleashed upon this wide old world
like a nest of bees and it's about here when we realize how...
small we are.
This world has been spinning,
ticking and tocking while I've been on this tightrope walking,
this fine line between success and failure.
I've been given countless examples of what not to be
but I look on some of these examples of people and they're free.
Just like we all, in sense, should be.
Sure, they may have missed the bar
but who says that this is how tall you have to be to ride the wind?
And if it's because they didn't try then maybe they are where they should be.

I've seen the dregs of this society,
the lowest, the junk yard clutter
that this world churns out like processed butter
and it always makes me wonder how they got to where they are,
is it just a coincidence that most ones from the projects makes it too far?
I feel like I'm playing someone else's game,
like I'm being made to dance on strings,
like all these million little things that are supposedly special
about us don't mean **** if you can't cram that into a school bus
and cash them in for a good mark.
And the stark reality is that we're stuck here.
Between a... rock and a harsh set of ideals
where self-esteem is measured in percentages.
This antiquated, dusty arcade cabinet
where a high score is what your life depends on.

So if I seem weary, now you know why.
I'm sure we're all a little tired of being as marionettes
to implied but never uttered threats.
We might not all be able to express this anger.
But some of us do it better than me or anyone else.
What of those that lock themselves in like a security deposit
and hang themselves up like coats in their closet?
We mark these messages written in the blood of innocents
as the acts of desperate teens,
we never truly sit down and ask ourselves what all this means.
We're trapped.
Let us go.