For once can we get these things off of our chests? God, I'm dying here. And this time you've got the best of me, but I don't seem to care.
It's all the same, it's everyday. All day long I pace these halls, I'm wearing holes into the floor. What if this is all I have? I'm making a run for the door. As all my bridges are burning down, falling down is all that I know. So when I think about all the days I left behind, it makes me want to die, and it's everyday. This is too hard, am I wasting my breath? It's been quite the ride. But I'm fresh out of mistakes and I think that you're right. This is too hard, when all that I'm left is nothing but thoughts . . . so I'm thinking, yeah I'm thinking, that I would be better off dead.