Before me is a weathered path
That most have tread.
It's walked just for daily bread
And littered with forgotten math.
As I stand at a crossroads, thinking
"What I want to do when I grow up"
Depression tells me to just give up
While The System hates my thinking.
This pressure alone, too much to bear,
Friends and enemies cause so much friction
I think I live in a bad realistic fiction.
This asinine importance will grey my hair.
I am not alone when friends suffer too.
We find more reasons to hate ourselves
And into depression each mind delves
Proving that the most human color is blue.
My friends speak of many a thing.
Some of ropes, some of pills, some of guns.
A call is made, and to them my body runs
While my mind asks why and lacks finding.
When I arrive, the deed half done,
Things reverse and they're alive
But soon comes the inevitable drive
To the one place that I can't run.
They will return, but not soon enough.
My head will worry, my heart will cry
As I wait for someone to give a reply.
And the old say my life ain't rough.
Some day it will be my turn;
We all leave for good some day.
Will I die in a natural way?
Or will my will cease to burn?
