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Walking through life with blinders on |
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Trying not to get too deep in the wrong |
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With all the peer pressure that they advertise |
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It's a full time chore to hold back my demise |
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Everybody telling me what to do |
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As if everybody knows |
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There's a fork in the road with a million prongs |
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And six little nines that |
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I know are wrong |
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I ain't got |
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I ain't got nothing to say |
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Maybe one, maybe two, maybe three hundred times |
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I've tried really hard to make this rhyme |
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But it's constant help from the people who know |
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Make it tougher than it has to be |
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Every single day |
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I try to get things done |
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I'm either stopped by the cold or burnt by the sun |
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There is no easy way to speak your mind |
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And even harder to get them to hear |
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I ain't got |
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I ain't got nothing to say |
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Every little piece of fantasy |
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Keeps me right where they want me to be |
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There's a code that they're all searching by |
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A map of places |
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I might hide |
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It's dark with a couple of marker lights |
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All of my hunters are afraid of heights |
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There's a well known fact that they don't know |
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They're chasing a man not on the go |
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I ain't got |
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I ain't got nothing to say |
