overactive imagination


It's not your imagination,
You've got a gun in my back.

Forcing me to give a fuck about your plight.

I search in vain, for my spot in the sun.

YOU, keep pushing me,

With your gun in my back.
I'll never be like you.

Though for too long i tried,
I'll not be accepted by your vain standard.
I'll not fit the mold.

It can't be MY fault,
that gun in my back

YOUR gun it bruises,
a spot in my back.

But it's been there so long,it feels like a friend.
If you took it away, i'd miss the caress,
of it's gunmetal finish,

the thought of the lead, searing a tunnel,
through my back.

So remember my plea,
as i lay on my back,

It's not my imagination, There's a gun in my back.