Does it sometimes feel like you’re waiting for pigs to fly?
Because that’s how high you ought to be to think this is coming by
You keep waiting for this ‘thing’, till it hits you like a big surprise
So you’re prematurely celebrating whilst living this lie
You know what you want, and you know how it should feel
You should probably see a doctor to describe how it feels
Because you’re wasting away in every moment that you yield
And I know you keep getting casted away, with every battleship you’ve built
Your mind is a chest, filled with treasures oh so real
So keep it locked till you’re treasured how you feel.
(I didn’t wan’t to write this in first person)