Like a claustrophobic, having an epileptic fit within a glass coffin
Trying to break loose from emotional and physical distress
Trapped and seeing the world around you pass by
Smashing against the glass as those around you just stare
Until their own lives and own busy schedule makes them move on
Leaving you still struggling and foaming at the mouth
The sweat and salvia dripping down like the rain from the storm clouds outside
Hating what you are and what this situation has made you become
Being forced to conform or you will die or forever be seen as a freak
The sound of traffic and muffled voices, blurry visions of people and buildings
Planes flying people escaping normality for 2 weeks in the same reality but hotter
And here you are trapped in your glass coffin, dying but not dead
Breathing and living under the same sky as everyone else
Fulfilling societies contract
