we write letters we won't ever send,
make money we won't ever spend.
what's the point of living this life
if everything stays bottled up inside?
making wishes on shooting stars
because we're so desperate for something to go right.
a tight grip on our lucky charms,
we venture into the darkness of night.
nobody ever warned us
just how ****** up life can be.
i guess they wanted us to figure out for ourselves
that we can't swim across the sea.