Oh, I could bore you with the truth, about an uneventful youth, though you could get that rap from someone else. And I could make an observation, If you want the voice of a generation, but I'm too self-absorbed to give it clout.
And I, I don't really care about, anybody else, when I haven't got my own life figured out. Cause when you're young and bored and 24, and don't know who you are no more,
There's no hope, and it's time to come of age. I think it's a problem, Does it ever go away? I know I am so self-obsessed, I guess, But there's, no hope, and I hope it's just a phase. Oh, I'll grow.