Burnt out and dreamless Alone and unkempt Entombed in bloodless flesh Contorted in masculine pose Talking in circles Worked to the bone Sleepless in the aisles Drifting through a sea of false memories (Staring - Haunting - Wanting - Drowning) Until I clock out and realize I'm 30 years older With no forward motion Decay marks the passage of time And so it seems that this is all there is Lost faces, stolen moments But maybe I deserve this Maybe I deserve this Maybe I'm nothing but The weight of my work If I dig a little deeper I might just be able to Turn this around Why do I believe compliance will save me? None of this is real None of this is real See me through my own eyes See me through my own eyes