Some days, I think I need therapy
But the voices assure me I'm okay
Other days, they think I'm insane
But I find it boring being sane
If it means sitting at a big desk
And writing out nothing but checks
They can keep their damn pills
For I think they are the one's ill
I rather be able to walk outside
The box they try to keep me inside
I want to find my own damn way
Hoping that my creativity might pay
Working 8-5 for the next 40 years
The thought only brings me to tears
I will only accept my fate as an adult
A dead imagination will be the result
I enjoy seeing the world as a child
Letting my inspiration run totally wild
One day, all my words will freely soar
And my ideas will be sold at the stores
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