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Living in my head

I feel like shit,

no point in denying it

There’s an invisible button in my gut

that this bitch has sought out;

well that’s how it feels,

when you shake off the frills


Am I really not good enough,

or is she merely in a huff

with me and my singing?

My alarm bells are ringing

and I feel like giving in,

maybe not go back again


And then I consider,

have I offended her?

I rack my brains

to see if by any means

I might’ve caused her stress,

or looked like I couldn’t care less


But then I think, who gives a fuck?

If she doesn’t like me that’s just tough;

there’s nought to do but carry on,

ignore her when I sing my song

She’ll get over it eventually,

and take her focus away from me


My singing style is a symbol of my individuality;

in fact it makes me happy as can be

to hear the people sing along, or tap their feet

in time with the melodic beat

What others think of me is their business

and I am powerless to influence this


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