It's hard being What they know you are (or think they know…) And so to strive For “better” is impossible (at least it looks that way) Nothing but bland And tired of “me” When the content of two Letters doesn't suffice There's nowhere to fall But…up? To the ceiling Seven and ½ feet away (maybe I measured wrong) There's no way I'll ever make it, so… (I don't care for lies) Coming in last Despite protests They hand “me” a trophy With pure gold plating Can only I see That's not my name? Falling to the ceiling.