All I do is sit here and listen to the wind.
All I do is make my shoulders tense,
And here other people talking to me
But I am reluctant to do anything about it.
Talking to me or talking about me?
It's all the same when you turn off the lights
And allow yourself to go deaf
My neck hurts and people stare at me,
I must have done something wrong,
Why am I always f~~~ing up so terrible?
I wish there were a way out of it,
But I condense my thoughts,
Pack away the fear,
And move to a new outlet
So that my hatred comments
Won't get the better half of me,
Like they always do.