I'm not one for breathing in a room with dust so oppressive.
But while I'm stuck I suppose I'll remember the good ol' days.
But even then sadness does not escape, for the good ol' days weren't always so good.

As I sit in this breath capturing confinement, I begin to think of you.
I can't help but to hear you talking, yelling.
And I scream for you to just shut up.
But you never were good at listening so I don't know why I wasted a needed breath.

Now staring at the boarded window, my eyes, they start to burn as I reminisce.
When I was something needed, and wanted, and maybe I still am.
No, probably not.
This abundance of fumes is making me fade.

I'm trying not to get over-excited.
I need this oxygen to plan my escape.
Escape from you and this place.
To forget you and this place.
The only hope left now is that tomorrow might be a little more clear.