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