So I'm supposed to believe
That my life has some sort of worth.
That though I inadvertently annoy
That there was some purpose to my birth.
I'm subtly unsuited to living life:
Lacking confidence and drive;
Though I'm a burden on friends, family and colleagues
I have to stay alive
Since there are those who couldn't stand me dead
I must carry on making mistakes instead
And although in living
I'm forced to accept there's some inherent point.