Worried

Is there a limit to trust or do we all walk blinded?
When the grounds end, will we stop or will we keep running?
I guess we're good at believing
With hands on our eyes
Hands on our ears
And guns in our mouth
A blade in the skull and a good job at the fucking mall
I've been worried and don't really know why
We still wade through the shit staring at the skies
We hate what we do
We hate where we go
But still have to smile with a scarf holding the rope
I like walking alone
Parrots ain't no good company
Can't you shut up and take your hand off my shoulder?
I'll cut off this arm
Though it takes me forever
I've been worried but don't really know
Why keep running and where we go