In that ball that you call stress,
Stifling every feeling you can have,
Into discomfortness?
And what good does it all do you?
I know, we've said this before,
But, there really shouldn't be much use for stress,
Unless you're running from a wild boar.
So, here you are, pumping your veins full,
Shortening an already very short life,
Unless you learn to erase the desperate feeling,
That your hands are tied,
And that to be alright,
You have to hold on to all this shit,
You bought with money you don't even have,
With nowhere to put it.
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