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This toxic way of thinking, this tired state of mind
This sickening, synchronous shaping of
Tired eyes, wasted time
These realizations of pointlessness
Impermanence and unimportance
Meaningless circles,
Drawn and traced, burned in place

Hundreds of days, all the same
Hundreds of days, all the same

Sore hands screaming and begging for break,
Blisters boil, inattentive fingers shake
What is the problem when you're endlessly entertained
The chalked circle is drawn,
Over again and again and again

Hundreds of days, all the same
Hundreds of days, all the same
All the same
Hundreds of days, all the same
Hundreds of days, all the same
All the same

Staring at the clock, it's never ending
Eyes dried out of focus
To the ground descending
Where is the outrage?
What have we done?
Our days are over?
Theirs have never begun

Who could think you only wanted the best for me?

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