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.