I spend my days in a little glass house,
a stone's throw from catastrophe;
it's the only place I've ever known,
although, it never had to be.
See, the others, they have grown,
but I'm still drowning in the stagnancy,
of these feelings I can't control...
the protagonist in this tragedy.
Let's get to the root of the problem,
and carefully extract this cavity;
because it's becoming quite a pain,
the strain, of my situation's gravity.
I'm diving deeper into the wishing well—
this private hell, I made for me;
and only time will tell
if I'll ever find the missing key.
...maybe it wasn't meant to be?
I've got a feeling in my chest,
a heart of gold that lies beneath;
I try to find the rhythm,
but I always seem to miss a beat.
It's critical to crack this case,
and it's no mystery to me.
I'm simply miserable—
and misery loves company.