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.