Physically, I'm distressed, but I impress by dressing my best.
Emotionally, I'm a wreck, gotta stay in check to earn respect.
Mentally, I'm cascaded by the replays of the days that have faded.
Why do I rely on the high that I get from pleasing people
When I know I'm on the floor from working hard, though I am ill?
Serenading my loved ones, they expect me to be monotone
Cuz when real becomes too real, I look like I need to be alone.
Desolation in isolation, destitution in institution,
Debauchery and mockery, criminality in lost vitality.
This is all that I see from those who are like me.
Body, brains, nobody, pains
From pleasing everyone, there is nothing to be gained.
So when push comes to shove, you gotta rise above
And be yourself, make mistakes, learn, and be chill.