Winter's creeping up on me.
Either summer was shorter or global warming.
I look around my room and all I see is an unmade bed, misplaced records and untied tennis shoes.
A half burned photograph of you.
Of course I couldn't see it through.
Is this what I've got to show for all my years on this Earth?
'Cause if so, no wonder I question my worth.
I wonder if I'll ever be truly happy.
I know only time can say but honesty it doesn't look that way.