Snowing - Scherbatsky | Текст песни

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• Snowing
• Scherbatsky

Did Bukowski ever drink enough? Did Ayn Rand ever write enough? Is my life too totally fucked? I might go, and then I'm bummed out. Yeah, these are things I contemplate as I sit alone in bed all day without a job to pay my loans and I think that I know I can't help that. So much lost potential. I'm not leaving. I'm not ready. I can't wait to be alone again. It's ridiculous but I still sit around and wonder: is it better off that me and all my friends stay inside and criticize and drink enough to make up for the New Year and every new year?

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