The Middle Lane
My thoughts are carbon copies, I'm afraid to forge my way My mental journey can be described as a three lane highway I've seen life's Heaven, as well as its Hell The left lane is exciting, but potentially chaotic as well The right lane is a sludge, the cars struggling through sand No, the middle lane is my safety net, don't deviate from the plan The left lane could make me happy, but that foreign feeling is scary The right lane is merging anxiety, a burden no-one should have to carry The driver's side window filled with fast heartbeats, and mental cocaine The passenger side is usually only bad vision and heavy rain I'm scared of being happy, scared of being sad Scared of not being respected, scared of becoming my Dad Yes, the middle lane is safest, cruise control with no worry So why do I still get cut off by everyone in such a hurry? Why is my copilot looking at me like that? Why do I feel like my peripheral is under attack? Sure, I could go ar