I produce too much of something, not enough of something else But the doctors cannot help me with the puzzle of my health And I’m tired of easy music And I’m tired of pretty girls And I’m tired of being tired And I’m tired of being hurt
I am the soldier at the back who is burdened by his books Though I stare into the mirror, it does not tell me how I look So I’m shaving in the darkness and I’m turning in my sleep And I’m turning like a monster with a dead man in his teeth