The story it grows older, the story is no story here
I never knew what it is, and there's no sign of it ending
As I am it and ought to be, they're telling me I am
[chorus]
Bowling race car driver, superficial hitman you're
On the list at every door, you don't bowl or race fast cars
Composition competition you drive
Just because I don't go, to the church where you reside
I might as well go for it, the nineties won't be back again
Until i'm forty-eight years old
I can be the hungry, as i eat my words again, appealing yet apalling
rising to my falling, I'm going to extreme ends, I'm gagging on their scene
[repeat chorus]
You shift, I'm the driver, over time in it's defense, I move their car
And for a moment it makes sense, but I fail them in the end
In the arms of old age, knowing only one to lose
Feeling nothing more to hide, consider life a forgery
As you