I'm losing my roll, and I'm afraid of becoming unfold.
I just want to make something of myself before its to late, I don't expect you to understand what is at state.
Someday I pray that my writing will be a new rage, but until that day I'll will be locked away in my steel cage. So I remain running through the night, chain down my demons to face what is right.
I can feel the weight of the world on my shoulder and the pressure is starting to overflow, I guess I'm trying to help my world not to blow, no matter how low my emotions go, I'll push forward even if I end up in the insane ward.
I can't promise I won't go crazy when you toss me in a cell, I'm not always thinking straight making my mind a living hell.