My thoughts are racing at a manic pace Adjacent, I'm on automatic My whole body isn't syncing The urgency inside my bones Ache for somewhere else to go Impatient shaking under my skin Auto pilot Progress stagnant This can't be it The American dream Is dead Exhausted We lost it In my head The American dream is dead A haunted headstock won't go away A whisper that's become a habit Getting louder than my thinking So I'll sit and play the lottery Until I've run out of time and money And I feel that point inching toward my back Is it time to wake these anxious eyes From fiction fed back in 95' But I've got a few more minutes And a handful of dimes The American dream is dead