Because i'd probably fucking wet myself

the hand thats been held for so tight, for so long finds fingers too weak to put up any resistance. so i say cut off the hand that does body harm, that's rocking the cradle, won't let baby leave. intimidated by choices, scared shitless of change. better highways and a flag just aren't enough. no.
i want to be watched every minute and second and let someone legislate my every fucking decision. like an infant whose elected its own nanny and cries and whines when left on its own. and fussily clamors for its ass to be swabbed with the best pages of the constitution that doesn't leave room for much else. let me play the role of the victim. tell me what i can and can't do. you see, i've got this addiction to seatbelts and curfews.
i'm sick with withdraw when... whenever i make my own decisions. i need your protection.
i need your discipline. because without it i'd probably fucking wet myself.