I sit around all day
Counting clouds like cutaways
I pull my hair out, strand by strand
I make excuses that catch in the dripping pan

I have not been to school this year
Piled all my books in the fire and watched them disappear
I paint my face with foxes blood
I do what I feel, and ignore what I want

How can it be somehow so essential
That I'm here?
I don't see the sense