“Quick, quick, tell me something awful Like you are a poet trapped inside the body of a finance guy Tell me all your secrets, all you'll ever be is My eternal consolation prize You see, I was a debutante in another life, but Now I seem to be scared to go outside If comfort is a construct, I don't believe in good luck Now that I know what's what I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind People need a key to get to, the only one is mine I read about it in a book when I was a precocious child No mid-sized city hopes and small-town fears I'm there most of the year 'cause I hate it here I hate it here My friends used to play a game where We would pick a decade We wished we could live in instead of this I'd say the 1830s but without all the racists And getting married off for the highest bid Everyone would look down 'cause it wasn't fun now Seems like it was never even fun back then Nostalgia is a mind's trick If I'd been there, I'd hate it It was freezing in the palace”