The Obsessive Nature of Dissatisfaction

I've been working on lyrics cause that's my weakest point, musically at least. I don't know what constitutes good lyrics yet so I'm fucked, but here's a desperate attempt.


Understood, but displaced
It's just myself who's doing these things
Day by day, my complaints
It's just inaction taking place
And who am I, to think lowly of myself
And who am I, to think so highly of myself
There's no reason anyone would want to be
Near me

But then again, it's just these things
I never planned on doing anything
And all I do is ask, why?

And all I do is stare at the sky
Outside of myself, there aren't the worries
To barrage myself inside my head
They're just telling me
I should be dead
I should be dead
I should be dead

(I think i'm going to cut out the next part)

There's endless words to fornicate
Fuck them into endless phrases and stanzas,
Poetries, melodies and harmonies
Thoughts iterate improperly through
Coarse, meaningless words
I'll feign a talent I do not have
And they'll pass me
They'll pass me by