So I′m writing a new song and show it to my friends

So I feel like I'm worth sum, I′m hardly

Really getting a thing done

Picking up the flowers, that I nurished with bad thoughts

That I keep here

Just in case I wanna feel like I'm a victim of a bad night

Feel like 8th grade me, when I realized

Interpersonal bonds just don't work for me

Shift the mirror to my soul

Thinking, "Who the fuck would wanna be me?"

Say, "Would anyone still like me

If they saw as much of me as I′ve seen?"

If I wasn′t so afraid of what comes after, where the fuck would I be?