| I’m only half a turn away
|
| I need to think my way out of this
|
| Is medication the answer
|
| Or is ignorance bliss?
|
| A diagnosis of anxiety and stress
|
| The inner wheel is turning
|
| Changing gear in my head
|
| Cycling over and over
|
| With the memories I retain
|
| To lose them is my aim
|
| To stop the inner wheel
|
| And learn to live again
|
| It was a stitch up and a hoax
|
| That led me to behaving like this
|
| If medication’s no answer
|
| Then is ignorance bliss?
|
| A diagnosis of my apathy instead
|
| The inner wheel stops turning
|
| Just a temporary blip
|
| Cycling over and over
|
| With the memories I retain
|
| To lose them is my aim
|
| To stop the inner wheel
|
| And learn to live again
|
| Trying to figure this all out
|
| Cycling through the thoughts endlessy
|
| Is medication the answer
|
| Or is ignorance bliss?
|
| A diagnosis of anxiety and stress
|
| The inner wheel is turning
|
| Changing gear in my head
|
| Cycle over and over
|
| With the memories I retain
|
| To lose them is my aim
|
| To stop the inner wheel
|
| And learn to live again
|
| With the memories I retain
|
| To lose them is my aim
|
| To stop the inner wheel
|
| And learn to live again
|
| If medication’s no answer
|
| Then is ignorance bliss?
|
| A diagnosis of my apathy instead
|
| The inner wheel stops turning
|
| Took a temporary blip
|
| Cycle over and over
|
| With the memories I retain
|
| To lose them is my aim
|
| To stop the inner wheel
|
| And learn to live again
|
| With the memories I retain
|
| To lose them is my aim
|
| To stop the inner wheel
|
| And learn to live again
|
| I’m only half a turn away
|
| My outlook is fucked
|
| But I don’t worry too much
|
| When I’m on the bench at the end of the street
|
| I couldn’t think of no words
|
| So this might be absurd
|
| But it’s just the bench at the end of my street
|
| The needles not stuck
|
| I just got took for a mug
|
| So, I’m on the bench at the end of my street
|
| And I don’t give a damn
|
| Cos it was only a scam
|
| So, I’m on the bench at the end of my street
|
| My outlook is fucked
|
| But I don’t worry too much
|
| When I’m on the bench at the end of my street
|
| I couldn’t think of no words
|
| So this might be absurd
|
| But it’s just the bench at the end of my street |