There's a place, I wouldn't call it home, but it has that kind of feel.
There's a woman, and I wouldn't dare call her mom, but sometimes I need to.
There's a window that can't show me the world, but it candy coats things nicely.
There's a boy, we aren't friends, but we pretend to be, for what's left of our sanity.
I have a method, to make this place my world,
To make myself believe that I'm in heaven.
There's a door, I want nothing more than to open it, but mom has it locked tight.
There are pills, laying on the counter, I could take them if I wanted to, but they belong to my friend.
There's a bed, with white sheets in the corner, but I'm not ready for heaven just yet.