the problem of good
well who put god in charge anyway? if i were in his place i'd do the same damn thing but you wouldn't have to worship me. and if this guitar could talk it would say, "it's not my fault that i am played this way. it'd be stupid if i worshiped those hands." now it seems that i'll be going to hell since i didn't buy the morals he was trying to sell, and i found them on my own. i won't exchange my heart for something that's sweeter than it. and like the decorations up in town it won't let me forget that seasons come every year but they seem different, but it's only our minds that have changed. and so if i did anything good, god is quick to take the credit for what i've done, but it's my fault if i kill someone. and i thought that i'd be through with these moods. i thought that they would die just like dreams do, but i find they're still pressing hard. i've learned it's best to give up whenever your skin is getting rough, because depression's not as bad once you realize you enjoy being sad. i'm trying my hardest to stay alive just as long as you're doing the same. and i think that it's harder than we may have thought to keep ourselves awake.