the cap is off
but the ink is gone
and hope
is a rope
i hung myself on
they'd like me to do
tricks in my cage
’cause passion's in fashion
and i'm full of rage
they'd like me to hit
some sickly-sweet note
it's late
and i hate
whatever i wrote
they'd like me to be
what i am not
but happy
and sappy
i must have forgot
they'd like me to try
to seize every day
tomorrow
more sorrow
i feel sick anyway
they want me to think
quite postively
and tonight
i might
just watch more tv
they forced off the cap
and the passion is gone
and hope
is the rope
they'll hang themselves on