i hate the way you look at me
just like the little piece of thrash under the carpet
ready to tear the heartbeat
living bad luck, i'm always dirty
not in the mind but in the soul!
always ready to go
my life's been lame
turning the wheels on the bus round and round
reflection in the mirror makes me sick
days gone by like mad
filling the space with things i've never had
anxiety and stress
ran out of pain with nothing to gain i'm slain
the mental institute is....full of guys like me and mic
hit the light and say goodnight
can't take the strife uh....
notebooks filled with fright
killing the pens with all the presence on the pad
sad, i never got the math!