The Hope is a Fleeting Lie, But I'm Trying to Hold On
Running through corridors and corridors,
The crimson walls, widening. Why
Won't they squeeze the life out of me?
Looking forward to the summer, more
Of the same for me, sitting in my room,
Cooped up with nothing but some needles.
The end of the corridor is glaring at me,
haunting me, I can't quite reach it.
I've been running for years and years.
What if I just stop running toward it?
I happen to be the greatest person...
... That nobody wants...