How do I turn this thing around?
I feel these four walls closing in.
Face up against the glass I'm looking out.
"Is this my life?" I'm wondering. It happened so fast.
How do I turn this thing around?
Is this the bed I chose to make?
It's greener pastures I'm thinking about.
Wide open spaces far away.
All I want is the wind in my hair,
to face the fear but not feel scared.
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