One tells me this
Annother tells me that
I think I know too much
Much enough to fret
Every morning I sit inside
Wondering whether or not to hide
Never fail to hate my morning
Because that's when I start my frowning
They just don't know how I feel
What I feel inside
They just continue to do their things
Things they just don't fight
They never thought how I'd react
When I always see the fact
How hard it is to be in the middle
Trying so hard not to fiddle.