Easter Egg

Would it be worth it to write songs About everything I'm not? I could invent a thousand problems And tangle myself up in the knots. Because people only like the boys in bands Who're plagued with troubled thoughts. So give me, give me problems, Cut me out for this job. Everybody just thinks that I'm falling apart at the seams and I can't believe, That they're all wrong about me. Everybody just thinks that I'm falling apart at the seams and I can't believe, That they're all wrong about me. My band and I could play along, Forging anxious 3 minute long, Laundry lists of problems, But for some reason that feels wrong. To act unstable, To turn the tables On myself and everyone. Myself and Everybody just thinks that I'm falling apart at the seams and I can't believe, That they're all wrong about me. Everybody just thinks that I'm falling apart at the seams and I can't believe, That they're all wrong about me. Would it be worth it to write songs About everything I'm not? I could invent a thousand problems And tangle myself up in the knots. Life's not perfect but I won't let that define me. And I won't play along with the trending anxieties (Bleh) Like I say, when I say: "I'll be something you're not." "I'll be what all the people want" "I'll be something you're not." Just give all the people, just give all the people the truth, truth, truth, Which has nothing to do with you. Everybody just thinks that I'm falling apart at the seams and I can't believe, That they're all wrong about me. Or if it's just me and everything's bad and it's all falling down to Finally come true, Then they were right about you.