Daydreaming

Within my day of daydreaming, everything can seem to be right or wrong, like a song.
Only to find myself sitting on a couch with something to think about.
My life and with the the unspoken strife that seems to carry on in others you see, it's not about me. It happens to be a lie, that I am connected, let me tell you why.
It's the art of sadism, only their decision to indulge in my suffering, a repetition that goes on and on like the time of day that allows me to say that I continue to survive, because in spite of them bastards, I am still alive.