I hold a key in my pocket
My friends have a spare
And my family are the lock makers
I don't give it to people often
In fear of what they can do with access
To my brain
To my heart
To all the thoughts I bury deep inside
They gain my trust slow
Because I know what a boy
With an imperfect smile
And a spark in his eyes
Could do to a girl like me
A girl who's had to change the locks too many time to count.

I was born into construction, I know no other trade.
Im not very good at math, and my writings just the same.
I try to act, I try to sing but in the end I always seem right back where I began
I build the set, I cut the wood, and they're painted by my hand. Could I be another man, I know I choose not who I am, but I wish I could just understand if im a product of this land or am I free to choose my plan.
I will fail at my career, this is my fear. I will be like my father, broken and poor. There is only one door for me, the rest are locked and theres no key that i can see in sight.