Mothers beat at the drum
Keeping the pace for their children
Hoping that they grow up to survive
They're not raising villains
They're dressing in gas masks
So they don't have to breathe this air
They're telling stories about
How life really is fair
Like fairy tales really come true
Like pages flip smoothly
Maybe they've read too many books themselves
So they can't speak fluently
We're speaking in codes and tongues
We're growing up cold and dumb
Our social skills are lacking
We'll never be allowed to own BB guns
This is the story of where we've been
The story of where we're going
The story never ends
And it's our inexperience that's showing
Slowing down any progress that could be made
I'm tired of being dysfunctional
I'm tired of being a slave
I'm tired of feeling like
I'm living someone else's life
Pavlov is pushing my buttons
Behaviorism is a knife
That cuts into my skin
It cuts into my shins
It cuts to the bone
Until I can't walk alone

And the truth is
I'm not ready to grow up yet
I've misplaced all my evidence
I can't tell if I'm dry or wet
I'm like the 5 foot kid
Standing in the kiddie pool
I'm like a village idiot
Who doesn't know that they're a fool
I've been handed a million compasses
Each pointing a different direction
I'm confused to the point
Where my heart could use an inspection
To see if there's a reason
For it to continue beating
Keeping my own pace would be nice
So I could break this cycle from repeating
Repeating
Repeating
Repeating
Repeating
Repeating everything that's been said
A billion times before
I've heard all the advice
And it's not opening any new doors
And who needs history
Who needs mathematics
Who needs to know anything
When all that does is build habits
That give us a reason to point our fingers
As brittle as they are
Eventually they'll just fall off
And we'll wreck this car

Maybe this is where we're supposed to be
Maybe this is where we stand
Maybe there's no escape from being shaped
By this horrible hand
It doesn't want to scratch our backs
It doesn't want to pat our shoulders
It's just there to smack us around
And force us to push this boulder
And Sisyphus is laughing
I can hear him in the distance
He's laughing at our stupidity
He knows there's no resistance
And the friction is burning
It's burning in our palms
It burns to the point
Where we have no choice but to be calm
That's why we're holding our heads down
Reluctantly in agreement
That's why we're holding our heads down
Reluctantly in agreement