I haven’t felt like picking up my pen
I haven’t felt like picking up my room
I’ve felt like losing myself in someone else’s stories
Cuz my reality isn’t rosy or even doom and gloom
It’s just a collection of habits and routines
That I go through because I have to
And oh when I was 16 I had a hundred stupid dreams
But people change and the world keeps rushing in
Like the ocean waves crashing relentlessly until we give in

I don’t want to go out on the road anymore
I don’t want to play to Carnegie Hall
I’m tired of my proud thinking and impossible standards
Believing somehow I can rise above it all
It’s just a build-up of compromise and disappointment
An ant hill that grew into a mountain
And oh when I was 16 I had a hundred stupid dreams
But people change and sometimes I think I don’t want anything
Or that’s the lie I tell myself while I keep writing and writing and fighting

I am coiled up so tight inside
I don’t ever want to be set loose
I’m afraid of what would happen if I lost control
Better to leave Pandora’s Box unopened, unused
I thought someday all the pressure would turn my coal into a diamond
But I fear it’s just grinding me to dust
And oh when I was 16 I had a hundred stupid dreams
But people change and I’m not saying this to gain your sympathy
I just don’t know why I’m still sitting here again, writing and writing and fighting

When you don’t want to hear another sad song
And I don’t want another struggle with my muse
If only life gave us what we asked for
Instead of forcing us to guess and choose
a, b, c, d, or all of the above, or none of the above
or maybe I’ll just leave the answer blank