I wake up and close my eyes
Get up and put on my scars
Put on my make-up
Should I say "make-look-
Like-I-Already-Should-Have-Died"
And I hate myself without wondering why

Out the door
Thinking, 'More
People to try to be are being born'
The path is well worn
I see the weed growing on the sides
You'd call them flowers, I call them ground pollution and besides
You'd pull them up if they were in your garden yet
Here on the ground they sit
You think they're pretty
But you're just so petty

As I get to my prison
My soul's asylum
You'd call it school
Nerds say it rules
But I hate it so much
And I can harly wait for lunch

The teachers drone on like they know what they're doing
Little by little they change our thinking
They control what we do and where we sit
If we don't do it just right, they'll have a fit

Then lunch rescues us
And the youths, some with their hair mussed,
Run to the cafeteria and eat
Free to chose your own seat
You walk around and talk to people you see
And give thanks for this time given to be free

We are sheparded back to our classrooms by a weak bell
We go back to the hell
In which most of our lives are spent
Out the window my attention went
I don't care, I want out
But will I? Is there not any doubt?

And back home I go to the family that hates me
And you'd think I'de be happy
But no, I'm not, I'm not free
They still control me

They say I have the power to chose what to do
But I am attatched to the strings, and so are you
They puppet us around, and raise us to
Puppet our children, and they, theirs too

So I wake up this sorrowful dawn
Look out at the dew spattered lawn
And look up at the sky
And wonder why
They're up there and I'm down here
They are angels, so I hear

I want to die on this sorrowful dawn

Don't we all?
From the sky, we will fall
Hope for a softer landing or go through the crust, straight to hell

 
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