One Hundred Million Years Ago a Hero Crossed the Land

I want to be a character in some fiction that I write

So I feel that I have authorship of my own life

Build myself into concept to have some control

But subconscious commands me, and so does my soul

What is truly my nature I try to resist

Hasty thoughts that I make up make me feel sick

Give my ego a premise, then try to commit

Still can't run away from the fact I exist

Well, sure, sometimes it is nice to be tangible and true

But self-recognition is hard to construe

To be content in yourself, well, that's difficult to do

Some days you'd rather be me

Some days I'd rather be you

And maybe, in some ways, that's why it's hard to empathize

You're nothing more than character in someone else's life

To them, you live as the fiction that you would like to be

But without the control over how you're perceived

You may feel minimized or maybe misunderstood

Maybe idealized whilst undeserving of love

So then, discard the opinion as they don't really know you

Only to face facts you don't know yourself too

Sure, sometimes it is nice to feel tangible and true

But self-recognition is hard to construe

To be content in yourself, well, it sure is hard to do

Some days you'd rather be me

Some days I'd rather be you