You know it's getting late
And I know I'm such a waste,
I'm so bored
Everything feels so much like a chore Sitting next to you
Sitting next to me
I’ve got to get away from here
Go home and disappear
You know i feel so cold
I don't wanna talk to you at all
And what's the point in this?
Sitting down and writing all these lists, of all the things I'll do
You all know that none of it is true,
I really must get home,
I can't wait to sit there all alone
When I'm talking now I'm trying to put down the phone,
When I'm walking now I rush but there's no point at all
And I don't write that much these days, the feeling never comes, I never go for runs,
It hurts my lungs...
You know I’ll make you wait
I don't want to but I’m always late I'm so full of shit,
Why don’t you try a bit of it?