I'm caught, it seems everyone knows just what to tell me.
I'm caught, I don't know why, but it all seems so bleak.
I'm caught, between what I am, and what I ought to be.
I'm caught, between thinking and feeling.
Somewhere I know, that I know best.
and then, somewhere somewhere else,
I know that I know so little;
I feel as small as a thistle.
I keep looking, asking, and listening
and martyr an image
I should try to salvage.
No one wants me near, but when I am
who wants me to leave?
The world is a paradox.
The world is a dichotomy.