When your paving new roads of living
But your own blood brings back the past like it’s a beautiful scrapbook
Pointing and adding their own comments like it's something new

But living In a trash bag will suffocate you.

You're the inconvenience at the bottom of that trash bag
Except they treat you like a silver spoon
Then realize you're merely a used plastic knife

And living in a trash bag will suffocate you.

They assume all your thoughts and feelings
Because you're dead to them
And bringing to your grave nothing but fists and bad attitudes

Being dead can't hurt you.

But unfortunately I'm in the bottom of the black trash bag
Along with immature arguments
And stinging comments

The fight I've put up hasn't been enough
Hopefully one day they’ll recycle this trash bag to become something new again.