I try and try, but it never works out quite right.
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The next big job or that one great love of our life.
Nothing in this world is perfect.
But still we lead our lives searching for it.
The answers to questions we won't find out.
The reason we're left with so much doubt.
Tears behind my eyes, the permanent ache.
I wonder if anyone knows this smile plastered on my face is fake.
Sometimes I want to pack my bags and try to get lost.
The benefits just might outweight the cost.
Everything is moving in the wrong direction. I don't think this is my place.
With twenty-three years of experience, I have so much baggage, even less grace.
Maybe I took too many chances. Or maybe not enough.
I feel so weak. So why am I acting so tough?
Because no one likes a whiner, someone who'll complain over and over again.
That's why I try so hard to pretend.
Pretend that life is great, and everything is as it should be.
With the silent hope that it will disguise the weaker part of me.
It's been a long day. Hell, it's been a long life.
My eyes feel heavy, my step is off, must be the inner strife.
Sorry I can't be perfect, but I'll try for all of you.
If I break into pieces, everything else will come unglued.
So call me on the phone, ask me how I am.
I've done it this long, I can keep up the Scam.