“What if I fall?… Oh, but my darling, what if you fly!” — ( well, it’s a little unclear whose quote this is, but it’s either Peter Pan as written by J.M.Barrie or Erin Hanson the Poet*shrugs shoulders*)
I want to be rich and I want to be healthy, but the struggle against poverty — keeps threatening to break me
I don’t want to sweat blood, I don’t need to be thinner, I’m dodging the reaper and taxman while I’m eating my dinner
nightmares full of cash ruling everything around me, haters spit venom into my ears as they surround me
it’s non-stop, it’s just fucking relentless, I give a dirty laugh — keeping my mind beautifully reckless
if I ruled the world, would I free everyone? Or would I get shot before I burned all the guns?
how can I be wasting time when there’s no time to waste? Everybody’s got so much dumb shit to say
I want to be free but I’m scared to fly, I want to live life but I’m scared to die
daily, thunder roars, as lightning tries to strike me like a match, to watch gleefully as I go up into a big ball of flames — as another mere mortal steps in to play these chaotic hunger games
fear manifests and courses through my veins
it’s just so high, above and beyond the sky
it’s just so low, the abyss beneath the sea seems so cold
in the end, you ask what will become of me?
but the real question is, am I ever who I want to be — or am I taken over by what fear makes of me?