At this point I'll die a poseur
Take your credit; think it over
Why do I feel like I am wrong?
I know it's just a phase
I'm stumbling as I'm rounding second base
And I am just a fraud
Without the wherewithal to lead you on
Idle thoughts become an echo chamber
Each day I'm less aware and a little stranger
Little more than dollar store survival strategies
Piled high and deep with nothing underneath
Not the first in a growing list of failure
I guess you were right
It was never more than just a matter of time
Until wishful thinking became a vice
There's not much left of me anyway
So just let me die
Take my anything
As long as you can build it into something you can use
