Eternity captured in a bottle,
And I am such a bore.
Why am I excavating for answers
That I will never adore?
And what if the question
Wasn't asked to me?
How much better could I feel?
Is it possible to commit mental suicide and live?
Or is it just a front
For just one little pleasurable ride?
I wish I knew the truth
When all hear are lies.
And what I have discovered
Just makes me want to die.
But since I cannot believe
This simplicity of self...
I will just be thrown away
Or put back on my shelf.
I know I'm disturbed.
I know I'm demented.
Most of you are strictly insulting.
I'm convinced that only I am tormented.
I know this is probably wrong,
And that I just assume.
But I live with what I'm taught,
With all about me that's presumed.
This is my health.
This is how I'm feeing.
Whatever you interpret, I don't care:
It's my soul that's peeling.
