I'm half awake at twelve
I close these eyes again
I'm half dressed at seventeen
And I still keep them closed
I felt half-dead by the time I turned twenty-one
I don't feel alive at the age of twenty-two
I might feel okay at twenty three
I got overwhelmed like an empty shell
That's waiting to get fired again
I'm chasing dreams in the town where I grew up
I play with grenades in these dirty streets
A hundred drinks, a hundred smokes, a hundred perfect times
I got a bomb for reality
Can anyone ever count on me?
I tried to get it right on many sleepless nights
It's an itch I cannot scratch
It seems I wasted the last match