Prospects

Some of us are happy
But so many just feel down
We try to swim up to the surface
But we're pretty sure we'll drown
They are mostly disappointed
Tho we try to make them proud
And when we try to raise out voices
Were told not to be so loud

So we escape to our rooms
Though they just barge in so upset
While were just sitting the just breathing
Or just laying on the bed
Thinking 'bout the world
And where being here has lead
And though we try our fucking hardest
We just cannot get head

You talk about my future
What if I want none
What sort of world makes
Being dead seem much more fun

All this time that I have wasted
Makes morbid things fill my mind
Though I probably couldn't care less
Barely breathing is just fine
Grab my favorite sweater
Bring some comfort down to hell
Lay my head down on the table
Though all i want to do is yell

You talk about my future
What if I want none
What sort of world makes