Sitting in the car, talking with the window down
See the bottom of your pant leg as it brushes with the ground
And I feel sick with this thing
I have to swallow and pretend to look around
This is a fiction I've created
I am cutting down a forest of words I'm not allowed
And I have fields of propositions that I've gated
And I only let them go if I can sing them to a crowd

I guess that I wanna be believable
But the catch in my throat is the consequence of being full
Of choices I can't make
And levers I can't pull

Just across the table you're feeding me with talk of inner confidence
You're taking me upstairs, introducing me to people I have not seen since
And I'm wearing these bracelets to weigh down the shaking in my wrists
I'm trying my best but sooner or later you'll notice this

I guess that I wanna be believable
But the catch in my throat is the consequence of being full
Of choices I can't make
And levers I can't pull

You'd say that I deserve this, you'd say I'm asking for it
Will I choose to hold it back
Or will I pound this wall until the surface
I guess that I deserve this, I guess I'm asking for it
Will I choose to hold it back
Or will I pound and punch until the surface cracks....

Sitting in the car talking with the window down
See the bottom of your pant leg as it brushes with the ground
And I feel sick with this thing
I have to swallow and pretend to look around.


By: May