You’d find me at the end of a rope hovering,
without the Hall governing my Reich,
yet I continue wrestling my life,
toss and turn, i don’t sleep, I’m restless.
Bottled up, at best I’m content with my existence,
so I guess I’m not happy at all,
bad thoughts are just resisted,
a simple life isn’t accepted.
I’ve got to blow this shit,
you know kill this bitch,
and this ain’t domestic.
Feelings still oppressed,
probably just depressed,
on off with my life and the rest,
caring hearts four at best.
Yet I’m not sure if I detest,
these fuckers or my choices,
who gives a fuck as long as I get 5 Rolls Royces.