Over the Edge

Another morbid song. Woo. And there's more coming, too. I don't know why I can't write remotely happy stuff. I might have a sense of humor, but that's not going in the music; I'm not Blink 182.
This song has a nice little square lead in C minor; (after playing Jupiter, Bringer of Jollity, in an orchestra-I'm a violinist, if you don't know-that has become my space-war key) and is about a random kid's extreme paranoia. (Morbid? Yes. Scary? Likely. Will it sell? Maybe.) But enough pointless digressions. Let's get to the song.

I don't know what is wrong these days, I never can relax,

I see only anxiety, I'm surprised I'm not collapsed

Look behind my shoulder, my panic's set to "max,"

I feel like I'm stepping on a million sidewalk cracks

I cannot be my myself unless I'm safely out of sight,

I see someone that's to my left, I tiptoe to the right

I'm scared of all my fears but it seems just out of spite

I am also scared of telling someone of my plight

(Chorus)

I must've gone over the edge

The fears possessing me,

Are slowly eating me inside

They are my end-to-be

I think they call it paranoia

but I disagree

I say it's called be being chased 

By ghosts that you can't see

Don't be offended if I doubt you, please just understand,

I'm scared of you and all your friends, the panic's all I have

I might look sane, it's all a game,  it's in my master plan,

To hide your eyes from the facts, I'm lunatic, I'm mad

(Square synth solo)

(Chorus)

I think that I've been round the bend for far, far, far too long

So I've sent my plea of help to you in some kind of a song,

Help me before I decide I'd better pass along

So I won't have these specters haunting me forever on....

(Chorus)

(Chorus)

Yup. Morbid. As are all my songs. The problem is that political songs can get cheesy, I haven't had a girlfriend since kindergarten, and I don't have enough street cred to do those get-outta-my-way-puny-opponents thingies that rappers do a lot. So I write about people tearing themselves to bits Edgar Allen Poe style. That's my lame excuse.