I feel like I’ve been packed away,
Crammed into a cardboard box
With neat labels on the side
“This way up”, “Fragile”
Actually, not fragile, never fragile
I can be as mad as a hatter
Laughing into my straight-jacket
But I can’t shatter like fine wine glasses
At the first tumble

I wish someone would tell me though,
Which way IS up??
Am I standing with my feet on the ground
Or are my legs really just dangling in thin air?
I want direction
I need direction
I’m looking for the red dot on the map
“You are here”
Followed by the blue line
That’ll show me where to go

My indecisiveness scares me
Am I going to end up like my mother
Standing in the meat isle
Debating over whether to get turkey or chicken?

Scratch my decision to want a map
If I have one I’ll only be too dependant on it
I’ll sell all my buildings
and use up my get-out-of-jail-free cards
And go right back to “GO!”
Because that’s what the map says is the right thing to do
And by the time I realize everything I’ve lost
I’ll be wearing nothing but my underwear
Inside my box house
Cursing the map that I so loved

Sometimes I feel like
I’d willingly get into the box
My, do I seem to have a machovistic streak
Now hand me the packing tape
I’ll close myself in
And here I am again, back at the box metaphore
It always ends with a metaphore
Why do I need to puzzle it all out?
Can’t you just give me the walkthrough, the solution?
Why do you alway screw with my mind
Haven’t I been through enough?