The bottom line

Poorly designed

You've been thinking the worst in this time of strife

You add color to my life

How's the weather where you are

You might need my throat cut

Cause I can't pay for this deprivation

I can't look you in the eye

A generation of people who hate themselves

You come around

To settle down

Don't make a sound

Or I'll wake up, wake up

Man it feels like a curse to be locked inside

The poor combined, fate reassigned

You add color to my life

You scour the earth for it

Already worn

From day one, within

A generation of people who hate themselves

You come around

To lay it down

Don't make a sound

Or I'll wake up, wake up

You always leave in times of strife