Was it ever any fun?
I just can't seem to think.
Sometimes, it feels like it's a sink or a sink.
The order I put my words seems in accordance to discord;
I want to be a lord
To create fictional fate
To desecrate reality
Even if for just a day
They say, "wait your turn,"
But the passion, it burns
Not a spark from the dark
It's a cascade of flame
I want to make a name
In this daydreamer's game
I spent my life writing; not winning
And every single time I bin it
Because it's the motivation business
And I'm just an intern in it
Making coffee for emotions
If I had words I would've wrote them
But the deal is done
Countdown's on one
And after it all
I just feel numb
I can try to cry,
But the crime's been done
My body's won
And there's nowhere to run
Was it ever any fun?