I've been thinking about what it'd be like to wrtite a song, 
but that'd be kind of hard to do with nothing to play it on.
I quit piano lessons in the third grade after two years because I'd had enough,
and I told myself I'd learn to play guitar, 
but it's been months and months and months.

I find myself sitting at the junction of County Highway Take the Easy Way
and State Highway There is No Easy Way, 
knowing which path I'll take.
I just wish someone would notice my existence and see that something's 
not okay. 

But I'm engaged to The Unforgiving Plight of Insignificance. 
We always fight, but, ironically enough, he's the only one who sees me.
It's getting harder to say what I feel
because it's just getting plain harder to feel. 
Even on the good days it's grey.

I've been practicing the art of stopping my existence,
quitting my commitment, 
without stopping my breathing, 
but it seems as though everyone has already done their part in helping me.

Practice makes perfect, but the only thing I need to make is a lasting impression.
I'm tired of the stars even though they're the only thing I've ever loved.
I'm tired of no one ever listening, but I'm the one who has never talked.
I've never felt young except for the one night when
I drove with the windows down until my hand started feeling numb.

That's how it always goes, though. 
I feel until I don't, and then it's gone.

But this is not who I am anymore. I am infinite. 
As far as the eye can see, I can feel.
As big as the world can dream, I can be.
The sun is always shining somewhere, and I will find it.