Been told it's what you make it
Not so sure what that means
Been holed up in suburbia
The whites, the greys, the greens
And I've been the type of tired
The type you can't fix with sleep
I feel like a shifting shadow
In someone else's dreams
But pull me back, pull me back, pull me back
If I've drifted
Lost the will to distinguish between what is swimming
And what's sinking
I know I'm not too friendly when I stay in my head
And start drinking
Even sitting in my sick I fall victim
To reckless overthinking
But I'm thinking about you
Is it gonna feel this way forever?
It's 5am, several hours before the sun rises
Staring at a ceiling I don't recognize and
My brown eyes have dried once or twice
And subsequently welled up once again
Thinking 'bout what I've left behind and what's next
What leaving home behind represents
Or how the very meaning of the word "home" changes
With every pa**ing moment and how a new zip code
Doesn't change who I am or who I've been
I'm still unsteady in my skin
And none of my clothes fit right and as hard as I try
No amount of socialization, experimentation with d**
Or walks alone can satisfy
The demon on my shoulder telling me to take my life
After all this time I'm still writing songs that gather dust on my computer
After all this time I'm still writing songs that gather dust on my computer
After all this time I'm still writing songs that gather dust on my computer