I’m sitting on a moving train.
I feel my life passing me by and
I'm staring at the ceiling.
Metaphors shouldn’t feel real.
I live between home and away.
Leaving my mark as I pass by,
Never fully connecting to the world
My life doesn’t feel real.
My loneliness makes living easier.
Depression seeping out of my skin,
Turning the world around me quiet.
I don’t want to be real.
I don’t have to be real.
I just have to act alive.
I just have to act.
(That’s what I’m good at)
depression hits hard at the worse moments