People asking for donations in front of the station Someone takes one look at it and puffs on a cigarette I lean against the wall, exhaling smoke I mimic the yellowing of society Who called it "fraud"? Who refused to call it "sympathy"? I can't see clearly from where I'm not flying (It's not like I'm...)
You're so harsh. You're so harsh. You're so harsh. You can take it or you can take it and you can chew it up. When you weigh the pros and cons, only one side gets heavier than the other. It's an awkward way to pretend to be right.
The dead eyes that play the part of the "special" me Sometimes I feel guilty, sometimes I feel disappointed. I can't believe I'm hearing the word "bond" used so loosely. The meaning of kindness is being replaced again, even today.
I ate my sorrow and slept with my loneliness. And now, brazenly, I'm singing for me.
I'm playing "special" with my dead eyes Sometimes I feel guilty, sometimes I feel hopeless. The word 'bond' hurts my ears, but in a corner of my head In the corner of my head, I keep something soft for myself, even today.
("Please turn off your cell phones in the priority seats.") The blaring sound leaking from my headphones drowns it out. At a level where we only need a yellow card I wonder how much time I spend unconscious.
"It's okay," some people assume. And those who shout, "You're bothering me." I don't know what's going on between those who are buried in overconfidence
