So often it's in color, vivid and meaningless dreams
Maybe if I understood the pain I felt
Perhaps if I could make sense of the hand I've been dealt
But this pain can be so unbelievably immense
And my thoughts run amok, frequently vile and intense
What should be a day of joy, it began so well
Within no time at all and for no reason, shot to hell
Mother asked this morning, "At home, do you have any close friends?"
Do these kinds of painful questions ever come to an end?
All I have needed is time to air out my mind
Instead, it's a barrel of inquiries so crass and unkind
Some days, I feel I should just change my name
But what would that do for me, when the end result stays the same?
At one time, the change would have made sense
But that time is now a fact of past tense
So if these technicolor dreams have something to say
I wish they would speak, or just go the hell away
My mind has had enough for this one cruel day
On that note, I'll clean the house of my short-lived stay
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