I just can't stand it anymore:
trying to force time to force me into lines,
trying to be done with it by singing it again,
and I guess I'll never leave my past behind.
More I change the more the songs remain the same,
and any progress I have made is swept away.
And this just another one to add,
another song to sing ‘til it brings me down at last.
I won't be gone for long; remember that.
There's always something here to bring me back. Though I'm down I'm never out:
this world is full of sad shit to write about.
Trying to get all of this out,
I just trip again on the words that I write down.
I've got a book of songs reminding me
of mistakes I've made and seen,
and the happy ones never seem to stick around,
as if I've an unwilling obsession
with life's unending depression.
Like something keeps pulling me in,
but when it's done I find I can't live without it.
Got a list of all the songs I wrote for you
that only make me worst when I play them through. How can I let it go when I am my own undertow?
I may be long gone but don't let me go.
So, don't break me down into
separate pieces meant to fit you.
Don't leave me out at night,
because you're afraid to try.