Is it that I take myself too seriously,
or that I'm not taking myself serious enough?
Are things as bad as they seem, am I
really just a grade-A fuck-up?
The grudges seem to be
loosening, but is it all a fcod?
I see the hand that holds me
back is my own, acceptence is
the first step
but it's
a long way up.
And I can't sleep again
until I'm exhausted,
and then I wake from another
strange and vivid dream
that seemed more real than
a dream should seem,
If dreams are letters
from the inner self that
all-too-often go unread,
my psychosis is a novel, indeed:
written by my soul chapter by chapter
and dedicated to me.
Is life just the joke, and if so,
how come I just can't grasp
the damned punchline?
Are we free or fated to come and go?
If there's no choice I've got no choice
but to believe that's a lie.
So what if I'm crazy?
It's relative, interpretive,
ultimately subjective.
So what if I'm a fucking headcase?
I'll go my own way because
I just don't feel the same.
Why should I feel guilty?
Why should I feel obligated
to judge myself?
Why the hell should I feel responsible
for how you feel towards me when it's
all too clear you don't have
the emapthy requried
or the will to reach out and
even try to acertain how or
what I feel?
I take myself too seriously,
and I don't take that serious enough.
The hand that holds me back is my own,
and I should just fucking
leave myself alone.
or that I'm not taking myself serious enough?
Are things as bad as they seem, am I
really just a grade-A fuck-up?
The grudges seem to be
loosening, but is it all a fcod?
I see the hand that holds me
back is my own, acceptence is
the first step
but it's
a long way up.
And I can't sleep again
until I'm exhausted,
and then I wake from another
strange and vivid dream
that seemed more real than
a dream should seem,
If dreams are letters
from the inner self that
all-too-often go unread,
my psychosis is a novel, indeed:
written by my soul chapter by chapter
and dedicated to me.
Is life just the joke, and if so,
how come I just can't grasp
the damned punchline?
Are we free or fated to come and go?
If there's no choice I've got no choice
but to believe that's a lie.
So what if I'm crazy?
It's relative, interpretive,
ultimately subjective.
So what if I'm a fucking headcase?
I'll go my own way because
I just don't feel the same.
Why should I feel guilty?
Why should I feel obligated
to judge myself?
Why the hell should I feel responsible
for how you feel towards me when it's
all too clear you don't have
the emapthy requried
or the will to reach out and
even try to acertain how or
what I feel?
I take myself too seriously,
and I don't take that serious enough.
The hand that holds me back is my own,
and I should just fucking
leave myself alone.
