I thought I had gotten rid of these feelings, why are they returning?
I need to get some air, need to get out of here.
My demeanor is calm, but my stomach is churning.
I can't get close to anyone, it is a fear.
I can't get out of town soon enough
I collapse where I stand
Every friendly action I rebuff
I can't deal with you anymore, you're designer, and I'm secondhand
Tomorrow was supposed to be the beginning of the rest of our lives
Why does it feel like it's the last
I thought I would be the one to wield the knives
But it looks like tomorrow you'll be flying the flag at half-mast