I don't want to do anything.

Don't make me move.

I know exact how my day will go;

reliving the same old lonely,

reliving the same old powerless empty

that lives inside me.

Why must we always run?

We're always doing countless little things

to make ourselves feel full,

when the feeling is only temporary.

At the end of the day, our energy is gone.

our love is missing,

and our pockets have been stripped.

It's always been like this.

I know what to expect from my stale daily life.

I don't want no other eyes to make contact with mine.

I don't want other careless souls trying to put their sarcasm on display.

I don't want the imperfect, self-titled superiors to critique me in various ways and manners.

Don't make me move.

Let me lock myself away in silence.

Let me eat, in an attempt to conceal the lingering sadness that covers me.

Let me fade...I don't want others to see.

I'd rather be hidden...

Don't make me move.