When will I live for my time?

When I’m accustomed to giving it away,
or working around others.
Why do I survey the land, even when I have the upper hand?
Too conscious of others or too sensitive to be a bother.
Is it in my jeans or my sign?
Or have I been indoctronized?
To put everyone else before me, in a world that would eat me up.

Jesus, I’ve had enough,
go on and bring me up.