Got my shift covered again,
I couldn't move, the walls were closing in.
My court-ordered anklet's radius was just my bed,
I was tied up in invisible gossamer thread.

And I can't cut the filament, can't seem to find the oxygen.
Typed out the way I really feel again, deleted every word before I hit send.
But congradu-fucking-lations! You figured life all out to the T.
And surprise, surprise! Your master plans don't involve me.

I've got a list of pros and cons,
I've got a list of foes to keep tabs on.

Things will probably get better... but first
they’ll almost certainly get worse.
But when they all crash and burn, I'll be there waiting my turn
to show them how fucked up the things they said truly were.

The past always looks bright if you squint your eyes
and the future looks just fine if you lie.
The present is a gift you can't return, cause you already opened it.
So let's get something nice with our store credit and try to make the most of it.

Things will probably get better... in a little bit,
they can't get much more fucking worse than this.
And at the end of the day it's not about if you lose,
it's if the people you hate lost too... or at the very least, did worse than you.

Just pull the ripcord, let it fly.
The shoot will open, we won't die.
Cool your jets and land your biplanes,
the gorilla's off my back, I've got a patch for the chip on my shoulder blade.

Things’ll probably get better...in the mean time,
it's safer in my room without the lights.
This pity party starts at 10:00 and goes til question mark,
but the after party's at the hotel lobby, not on my back in the dark.

Things will probably get better, right?