Oof, choices...

Too much

Too long

Too thick

Too big

Too stressful

Too important

Too off-balance

Too uncomfortable

Too awkward

Too easy

Too close

Too foggy

Too hot

Too scratchy

Too empty

Too

Too

Too

Too

Too

Too

Too much work

Too much responsibility

Too much pressure

Too much noise

Too much, and I give in.

Practicemakesperfect

Passtheair

I'llinhale,

I'llinhale,

I'mflying...

flying...

flying...

falling.

And then we're back to too much, because that's it.

Your words

your friends

your people.

Your lifestyle,

your choices,

your activities.

Your everything, and I'm following.

But you pull me downdowndown, and I'm drowning again.

Only, I'm not.

I'm alive.

And it's you who's dead, when all I really need is something solid.

Shit, but I've done this a million times, yeah? No problemo, I'm in.

And, sure, I'll bring the papers. I'll do the project. I'll write it all out, while I'm completely out of it.

I'm coooooool.

I'm down.

I'm just amazingly great with my reputation and what I do every week, because that's who I am.

Fuck.

I'm a liar, nothing else.

Everything I say is a lie, even when it's the truth.

Why should I be trusted?