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I'm so fucking sick
of dying every day
bit by bit eroding
in a million little ways
days spent chasing paychecks
like fleeting half-glimpsed ghosts
but the resignation it induces
is what I hate the most

Every time I think I'm winning
I always seem to lose
run frantically down blind alleys
no matter what I choose

Each night as I climb
exhausted into bed
I've won another battle
with the war inside my head
but I tell myself with confidence
with hope that's paper thin
that if I keep fighting
maybe I'll win

Daily life is a battle
with forces that conspire
to turn life into a long bleak
stretch of unfulfilled desire

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