I became accustomed to a kind of social servitude and no one, imean no one, could accept what I had become
Selfish, bitter, weak Enough to make you sick And lately, I've feeling there are bits of life I'm stealing Get me homeAt times it seens I wil not help but it's just that I savemyself from fear that blankets like mist, on a optimist whoinsists it's the simple things that crush, and I'm crying fartoo much, so much so that I'm thinking my control on life isshrinking
There's a light on in my head and I'm thinking what I said Allthe freedom in my brain, I'm alright now, I