Texty: 504 Plan. Treehouse Talk. Insult To Injury.

Why am i so good at bein a fool,
why is it so hard for me to realize it,
i try to remember the good things i say,
its hard to, its hard,
its hard to do,
im not a poet just an idiot,
tryin to make my blind way through the days,
dont talk to me,when i am saddened,
its hard to,
its hard to do,

when im alone in my room
i just think of the days that i sat sad and tired,
when im alone the only thing for me is you and everything you do,
im lazy and stupid,
but i cant get enough of you lately
its changin each day,
the reasons i be with you i just wanna be right here,

why am i so damn hard just to please,
can any one make any sense out of me
i try remember the good things ive done,
its hard to,
its hard to do