Youth's a wasting, only sadness could be felt.
Friends are scattered, no replies, their presence grown cold.
Happy memories, made up from expectations, nothing to show.
Fleeting the years seem, only twenty-two going on thirty-eight.
No one else to blame, so you take it out on yourself.
Bad thoughts knocking on doors in your wake.
Sceneries change, but the inside is the same damned thing.
All they see is a selfish, moody, uncaring bitch who won't smile.
Summer days of sun and fun, I can't afford what they're selling.
Naked eyes can't see this storm, but they won't come near either.
Breathe new life and be free, the key's gone missing.
Go home, let them all down.
Found a favourite track that was rare, now it's on repeat.
"...disassociate..., ...suicide..., ...razor blades..."
Hard-to-reach places, his voice found its way.
Crude lyrics, honesty counts.
Cheap glue, it won't hold.
Endless dimension of perverse malice, lost seeking affection.
One or two maybe, but they're not here to stay.
Self-worth, a question which continues to beg.
Twenty-two going on thirty-eight, you still know nothing.
Tough in talk, but not on streets.
Insubstantial, like your dreams.
Twenty-two going on thirty-eight, you are nothing.
Fleeting, supposedly the best years.
Back seat was always empty, why didn't you let go?
