I've got tons of loose change
And not a single jar to put it in
Dollars for days
But no concrete dreams to devote them too
Ideas in my brains
Pitching tents cause they know they'll never leave my mind
covered in dust
the shiny ones developing rust
never spoken, only dreamed.
My teachers said I had potential
All my chances lined up on a shelf
but I just sit here in this run down town
wishing for the things
That I have the ability to give myself.
I'm a lazy
bad excuse for a young person in an old world
Full of "what ifs" and "could have beens"
surrounded by opportunities and open doors.
They say to me "this world is yours."
Here's your chance to take
But I just hand it back to them thinking...
What if I don't want it?
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