Why must one have so many choices. . .. . .. . ..?
I sit, sit, and sit listening to my own voices
I can't ever make up my mind
I always feel myself in a bind
At times I think I know what I want
Then I realize my life is not written in that font
I go to someone and ask for advice
It seems every time it comes with some sort of price
The people I ask are the people that care
The rest of them aren't even aware
Lately there's one choice that's constantly in my head
It seems so hard, kinda like a hotel room bed
Some people think they understand
Where I am coming from its in my own hand
While all these choices are floating around
I'll just wait and think, maybe with my head in the ground
The choices are so great, the choices are so far
I figure now I'll live one day at a time, and live it up to par.
Why must one have so many choices. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . ..?