One Hundred Million Years Ago a Hero Crossed the Land

I want to be a character in some fiction that I write
So I feel that I have authorship of my own life
Build myself into concept to have some control
But subconscious commands me, and so does my soul
What is truly my nature I try to resist
Hasty thoughts that I make up make me feel sick
Give my ego a premise, then try to commit
Still can't run away from the fact I exist

Well, sure, sometimes it is nice to be tangible and true
But self-recognition is hard to construe
To be content in yourself, well, that's difficult to do
Some days you'd rather be me
Some days I'd rather be you

And maybe, in some ways, that's why it's hard to empathize
You're nothing more than character in someone else's life
To them, you live as the fiction that you would like to be
But without the control over how you're perceived
You may feel minimized or maybe misunderstood
Maybe idealized whilst undeserving of love
So then, discard the opinion as they don't really know you
Only to face facts you don't know yourself too

Sure, sometimes it is nice to feel tangible and true
But self-recognition is hard to construe
To be content in yourself, well, it sure is hard to do
Some days you'd rather be me
Some days I'd rather be you