What the fuck is real, and what is fake?
We always sit aimlessly pondering, "What of my fate?
How many lives can I touch, what does it take?
How can I do what I love, and stock a hearty plate?"
All of these questions pressing constantly, they've got me restless
It's kind of hard to fathom when you've alway been the "next best"
Trying to tame my thoughts with drugs and meaningless sex,
Have to be blind for not seeing that these things can't bring success.
"Do your best, no matter what" I've always been told,
But doing my best and getting nowhere's getting fucking old.
How can you stay warm if you're always buried in the snow?
A happy face to show, with demons in my soul.
I've sat through bullshit and believed way too many lies,
I've gotten way too many calls saying that friends have died,
Whether it be in body, or deceased in mind,
Gave up everything I've ever had, don't sleep at night.
And I pay the price.
What the fuck is real, what do I know?
It takes everything that I've got not to just fucking blow
It's hard to get somewhere if you don't know which way to go,
Surrounded by so many people but always alone.
It's not an easy path, it's a treacherous road.
My head is tired, my mind is weak, my story's been foretold.
Futile attempts to stand up straight, and not to fold,
Doing everything I can not to be bought or sold.
This story never seems to end its infinite cycle
I really hope one day I'll be able to get it right though
Forever blinded by the synthetic highs and lows
Until I'm all alone with my thoughts, after the night slows.
They always say it's all about the journey, not the end
But I always catch myself hoping that around the bend
Something will be there for me, even if it's just a friend.
The journey's killing me, there's only so long I can pretend.
Open wounds to mend.
