A sand full of fist and dirt
Like something old I once knew
Collapsing in the corner baby
It seemed the thing to do
Now I'm running out of time
Alive I am, I think so
Tell me what to do
Chorus:
Not made of stone hoping I'll last
Asleep in my bed while time trickles past
If I'm not there before the years end has come
The Century ends, they said I had fun
Was I out of line? Did you get enough done?
Time closes is in and another year has gone
A mask made then paint of plaster
No eyes I see within view
A problem maybe baby bastard
Sometimes I'm so confused
Am I running out of time?
Alive I am I think so
Tell me what to do
Chorus
And what I'm trying to say
Is that I left it hanging by the wayside
There's so much more I should do
Sitting here trying to relate
with something I'll never know
Well I'll just put it to rest
and let the Century end