I see tomorrow's failure, not its hope.
I hear how my guitar strings are untuned.
I live my life through the past’s microscope—
It makes my smallest flaw gape like a wound.
No matter what I own, I feel my lack.
No matter where I go, I never stay.
My freeway winds up in a cul de sac.
Hard work has got me nowhere, day by day.
My progress has no movement—only motion.
Because I fear defeat, it worships me.
I wear self-pity like it’s suntan lotion.
I throw away the lock to spite the key.
But why? Why crawl as if the ground might drop me?
I’m on my own. So who is there to stop me?