Sleep (Instrumental)

It's feeling like autumn.

It can't do that.

Seasons are not allowed to change,

I can't get a grasp on this.

On now.

On tomorrow.

On how to carry myself in this new and foreign school year.

Though I know the architecture,

Know the faculty.

Know the way I should carry myself.

But I've scrambled myself

All up like an egg.

And I can't figure out how to get the parts of me back into

Order,

All lined up like DNA strands

I figure my insides look all chaotic and scary.

And inside my head...

It's like a bomb's about to go off.

I'm just not cut out for high school.

But no one is, really.

It's made to induce feelings of awkwardness.

Let's get this over with.

Let's get the awkward over with.

But I swear,

Some things

Will be awkward forever.

I don't know what to say.

I worry about these types of things,

If I go and speak my mind,

I fear a negative reception.

People will definitely

Find my wordings strange.

So it's time to put on the high school

Clothes and attitude

And vocabulary

And act like I haven't changed.

Act the same.

Same as it ever was.

Because it's high school.

And nobody cares who's changed and who's the same.

And the teachers will never know who you really are,

For they don't care past slapping a red-written grade on your school papers.

And I don't care past getting those papers in and getting them returned with some alphabetical symbol higher than a C.

For below a C is failure to me.

But I've slacked so much this summer.

What will I do?

I'm giving up while I still can.

I am so scared I could puke.

Maybe I will.

I don't care.