Something controls this pen I fear,
Something that makes me write these things.
Somebody's voice I think I hear,
Something holding me back from fresh air,
The same feeling you get while on a swing.

Something like ever oppressing foliage, I don't know, something
harsher than the rings around my strained rib cage.
Thicker than the knot on my apron strings,
like the welt given to me from my engagement ring,
Stemming, never growing, although I seem to age.

Sometimes I feel like an caged animal; full of rage
Something is cornering me into a cage, it's like
Backstage I'm him, curtains up and I'm blowing my pressure gauge
Either way I'm an *******; doesn't matter if you turn the page,
the story doesn't change, that's my biggest fear; it's spiderlike.

I am myself, that's what I dislike.
Now I've got all this stress, I can add that too.
On the bottom of self-misconduct, I'm unsportsmanlike.
This game is a game, I'm starting to feel no better than Mike!
I need someone to speak to, to be wise to,
To dig into
Break into
Hell, bump into
Oh ****... deja vu
Out of the blue
and into you.