Life is meaningless and empty of satisfaction
The more I work, the less I get out.
How loose and tenuous are my strongest connections?
Drowning and motionless in my sea of self doubt
I would run away if I could lose myself
But I'll always be around to fuck it up
When things are getting better
We conspire to make it worse
Waking up from nightmares into nightmares
With sleep and consciousness blurred
Next year will be better I cry and swear
As my autopilot creaks and silently whirs
I would run away if I could lose myself
But I can't escape my flaws
Things aren't getting better
They're only getting worse
At sea I find driftwood floating in the ocean
Grasped for a moment before it slips out
Cold and frozen in the waves and commotion
Was it a strong wind or was it my fault?
