You’re so close and yet so far,
My hand is out to hold yours, my lips are stitched and shut.
I’m so sick of the garbage around me.
And I’m losing my shit cause there’s a storm (there’s a storm).
Sand and leaves fly my direction. My clothes fleet far from their basket.
It’s not like I had any plans, too busy drowning in my passion:
A thankless job that gets the best of me.
And I’m so fucking scared (so fucking scared) that I’m becoming a ball of anxiety,
And I just make all of you nervous.
My friends have dirty looks. They look so tired.
So why would I put them through more?
It will not die. I have to fight.
And I’m getting really sick of how I always feel the need to get drunk
In order to feel at ease around people who care about me.
And there are days I wake up and I feel like I’m done,
Like I’m living towards living along in a box.
But now I know what needs to be done,
I’ll ditch the things I wanna be and I’ll work with what I am.
The destination; it feels so close and yet so far.
And I know that it sounds strange but I’ve always loved Thursdays
Because they’re usually attached with that feeling that something great will finally happen.
And nothing will stop it.