The things in my head are playing a rhyming game.
They sound like a poet on stage
Pouring out their heart and soul to those who don't really know.
Their pains, their pleasures..
Their scars, their stories.
Every single little thing,
Was just never meant to be.
Constantly changing from good to bad
And then back again.
A circular motion things always spin.
Things go good for a time,
Then come crashing down again.
It's a cliched roller coaster game.
Can I bribe the conductor to make it stop at a peak?
