| There’s little hope for me
|
| Standing here, pretending to be happy
|
| As the very thought of living
|
| Sends me deeper into atrophy
|
| I’m sick of wasting time
|
| I think I might be sick, but not in the good way
|
| I’m driving with my eyes closed, would you take the wheel?
|
| Or would you let me die slow, to show me how it feels?
|
| It would be so real, yeah, but that was just a dream
|
| Then I’d catch you by the heels, but it’s never what it seems
|
| Tell me where were you when I was sleeping in the car?
|
| Came a long way but yet I’m still so far
|
| And I was reaching for you like you were still there
|
| I remember leaving but I can’t remember where
|
| I’m sick of walking
|
| My legs are growing tired
|
| I’m sick of talking
|
| 'Cause you talk just like a liar, and…
|
| There’s little hope for me
|
| Standing here, pretending to be happy
|
| As the very thought of living
|
| Sends me deeper into atrophy
|
| I’m sick of wasting time
|
| I think I might be sick, but not in the good way |