This is a crisis
With ticking time, calendars and cannonballs
So I question what this life is
teenage dreams of fame, the motorway or swimming lanes
There's a problem to my crisis
it lasted 22 years, 7 months, and 7 days
Still I wonder where my mind is
with all that ticking time, calendars and cannonballs
I'm ten times sore
Hoping it's a star, no satellite that blinds me
I'm very bored
Fighting myself much harder than I fight them
It's in my TV screen, in my self-esteem,
my forgotten dream, in the things I've seen
In the things I don't see anymore,
in the death I'm trying to ignore
In the tuned up cars, in the teenage whores,
in the words I say without a cause
In the credit cards, in the desperate hearts,
in the hollow words, in the pop-star
Get me out of here, get me out of here, get me out of here,
Get me out of here, get me out of here, get me out of here
Who can?
So analyze this analysis
When the rockets come in everyday form
and I'm still not gone
It seems I' not much of a good time
With my worried mind (be happy) and my cannonballs
I'm ten times sore
Hoping it's a star, no satellite that blinds me
I'm very bored
fighting myself much hard than I fight them
It's bitter to consider
that it's myself and not the world that kills me
It's bitter to consider
that it's myself and not the world that kills me
