Do you ft in?
Or do you feel...
Like you're on the playground where no one wants to share,
Or gives a care
About the kid
Who bares his teeth with no toy in his hand,
He was damned at birth, worthless,
merc'lessly cursed or canned
Cuz he wears the brand
Of a geek or freak
Playin' lonely in the cold sand.

Because you've been shunned by the cool kids: the mobile
Chatter matter/popularity contests.

Do fit in?
Or do you feel...
Like you're trapped on a mountain
With no one else around
And you shout and scream on down
With no returning sound
So you'll never be found,
You just wanna' drowned
On this craggy arctic mound
Of, loneliness,
But if you jump you'll, only miss
And break your frail, bones on this
Rocky tundra ground.

Because no matter how hard you try,
You're still on the outside.

Do you fit in?
Or do you feel...
Like you're lost at sea,
Sickly
With cold rain >Trickling
Down your cheek,
And you're gonna' freak
Because the freaking
Cruise-line
Reeking of civilization
Is a sensation
That postpones your starvation
But the airheads from your nation
Don't even see you,
Pass right by,
Let you die.
You're indivisible and free,
But invisible to everybody

Because you live in the land of Abercrombie the Bitch,
And you hate Mascara, which is all people seem to see.

Do you fit in?
Or do you feel...
Like you're trapped in a coffin
They want to bury you early
And big burly guys shovel dirt at you,
Hurling it into your hole.
You bang and shout
For them to let you out
But they'd rather have gout
They're already ready
Shoveling steady,
Throwing dirt on your mind through the eddies
Of the river of death.

Because you got rejected and laughed at by the girl with the big
plastic boobs and the Barbie Girl waist.

So,
Do you fit in?
Or do you feel that...
If you're not a movie star, >Then nobody cares,
You get not but blank stares
If you don't got the flares
Of Eminem's blares
Of rap
Even if they know it's crap,
They still sweat and steam
And the girls scream
When they see'im
Because his living his dream

And you're nothing.

But,
Before you get melodramatic about being asthmatic,
Or decide that it's tragic
That you're not an Abercrombie zombie
Or decide to go blondie
Or feel on the outside,
Or feel unloved,
Just think about what you're on the outside of!
A perpetual game of Follow the Leader?
Goldfish feeding at the fish egos' feeder?
I don't want to dis',
And I'm sorry to shout,
But I DOUBT that's something you should cry about!