| I try to be an optimist
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| But my glass is always bone dry
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| So, I gotta fill it up or get high to get by
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| To just try to tiptoe the tightrope
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| This pessimism’s a disease
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| With depression and apathy sets in
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| A complete lack of all motivation
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| To reach any goal dig deeper the hole
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| We’ve dug with distraction and give in to a vice
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| When it’s hard to wake up
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| Hard to function
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| Hard to cope
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| Without a six pack a bag of weed
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| Or a bump of coke
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| We’ve lost autonomy
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| And depleted all our dopamine
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| Now the world does seem a dreary place
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| Devoid of any hope without a vice
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| We poison ourselves and don’t think twice
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| About the consequence when the crutches feel so nice
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| When we put band aids on our bullet wounds we
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| Subtract good add vice
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| When we decide to stop
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| Can’t go cold Turkey
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| Cause you’re left with a brain all out of wack
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| Though it can be a quick hazy
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| Saunter down to rock bottom
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| It’s a long road back
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| There ain’t no seatbelts on this wagon
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| With every speed bump were launched back
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| To square one where we tell ourselves
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| That well do better tomorrow
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| We tell ourselves promise ourselves that we’ll do better tomorrow
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| (I'm not sure that I’ll be any better tomorrow)
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| We tell ourselves lie to ourselves that we’ll do better tomorrow
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| (I'm not sure that I’ll be any stronger tomorrow)
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| We tell ourselves promise ourselves that we’ll do better tomorrow
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| (I'm not sure that I wanna wake up tomorrow)
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| Sooner those tomorrows cease to come
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| When you live anchored to a vice |