Maybe someday I'll figure myself out
Emerge from this muddled state of mind
With some form of understanding
of where I am going,
What my destination is
What my intended purpose is

But for now I'm wandering
through this infinate maze in my mind
where each dead end is a new idea or emotion

Why worry about what other people think about you

She the only opinion that matters is your own on yourself

Just be the best you can on your own and whoever can't handle that
well, that's their problem.

We never really need to know everything about a person
Their deepest worries, their darkest secrets, their most personal emotions.

And yet we spend so much of our time trying to find all his out
For what purpose?

Inadvertently, we are stealing a little piece of their life from them
It doesn't benefit us, we don't need to obsess, yet we do.

Maybe because we want to know that others feel the same way we do,
Maybe we just need to know that others have dark lasts as well


But don't we know this either way?

The fast lane is too **** slow
Stop signs never turn to go
The geniuses just do not know
The fast lane is too **** slow

I'm tired of nothingness
Monotonous, lonely, stupid ****
Careful kids and reckless authority
Empty, broken, stupid conformity

The fast lane of moving assembly lines
The same **** action every time
"Gimme, gimme, it's all mine!"
Conveyor belts and assembly lines

I'm gonna go against the majority
Redefining your priority
Careful kids and reckless authority
Empty, broken, stupid conformity.

The roof quaked and the sky cracked.
Thunder rang through the misty atmosphere,
and rain plummeted from the overcast sky.
I could hear the drops thrumming rhythmically on the windows,
and the splashing of the cars that meandered down the soggy roads.

Lightening shot down and splintered the heavens,
followed as always by the roaring of the dark night.
I felt the house shuddering
as torrents of rain were cast forward,
and gales of wind crashed around it like waves on the rocky shore.

Through the dripping glass panes,
I saw fog gathering in the dense, stormy air,
shrouding the leafless trees and neat fences in mystic obscurity.

The persistent booming of the heavens did not cease,
and the pounding of the raindrops soldiered on,
but in all the noise, the clamor, the chaos,
the only thing I could hear
was calm.

I want to be able to write a symphony,
something that touches the hearts of others,
something so beautiful you want to be a part of it.

But there is too much anger inside
resentment, frustration, rebellion
to ever stop and calm myself down
just long enough to write down
all the perfection I can see in the world
in little pockets of time

Oh course, guess who is the scapegoat again,
when your perfect boy lies to you
you don't even want to see the holes.

Do you really not trust me that much?
What have I ever done to deserve this?
I try to be that perfect daughter you want me to be

at least in your presence

but I'm done.

There are way to many huge flaws in everything
so I'm done with it all.