The end of the road is a perilous place
The end still hasn’t come and the road gloats in my face
Waking up many mornings, I’ve just begun to question
How I’ve managed to make it this far… At this point I’m
Sometimes I start thinking, I can’t believe the time is here
I always figured I’d be gone before this juncture was clear
Like the car of life would keep going and I’d coast in the seat in the back
Of course I’ve had ambitions, but I guess I never felt I’d have to get to all of that
When are my parents going to retire?
Or will they work themselves to death to avoid dependency
The same way that I hope to?
Will my work ever inspire?
Or will I just let down the people who poured their time into me
Because they were wrong too?
And now we’re at the point where I’m having to come up with answers
When is this happening? I have to craft my footwork like a dancer
There are milestones I had thrown out so far in the future
Now I’m twenty-five and knowing they’re looming is the only thing I’m sure
Still not clear on the route
So I want to stop the car and shout
Can you just let me out?!
Not because I want to die
But I feel like I’m lost in time
How the hell did we get so far along in the ride?
I didn’t get to catch the scenery
Wasn’t sure what to look for
It seemed like so much of it was fantasy
And most of my days have been dream-poor
A cog in the machine, producing work on top of work
With nothing to show for it, and doubting my self-worth
And now the stop sign on my inside is coming into view
My brain is realizing there’s not much left in the way of fumes
“Fake it till you make it” has always been the motto
And I’ve hidden behind my work as if I’ve lived in the bat’s grotto
Pouring over work for hours with the outside walled by a cave
Hoping the effort will wring me out and in sleep I’ll be saved
But what now? Where do I go?
And more importantly, how the hell do I even get there?!