I can't begin to tell you what it's like day after day
To sit about and wonder: Where'm I going? What's the way?
For me, every path is dark; they're shrouded from my eyes,
By the fog that's been a hindrance since I was young and realized
That the people all around me once had plans and wants and dreams,
That they'd craved fame and riches and had aspired to genius schemes,
They'd recall their greatest childhood hopes and I slowly learned
That somehow, Disappointment was the only thing they'd earned.
This or that had stopped them from achieving their potential
And by and by they'd lost sight of goals once held essential.
In all their lives, whether young or old, the story was the same
great plummeting falls from such lofty heights, and the world was to blame.
Not all of them were bitter, some accepted it as fate
I'd wished they'd never told me, but by then it was too late,
To plug my ears and never learn that I can never win
And so my dreaming heart died, and reality set in.
