how can I tell you what's wrong,
when I don't really know what's right?
I've got too many things moving,
something keeping me up all night.
I've got this deep burning hunger,
a thirst that rivals my throat,
a policy of trying to go higher
though trapped in a sinking boat.
I'm bailing and bailing and bailing,
but the water just keeps flowing in.
sometimes there's blood,
sometimes there's sharks,
so it doesn't matter if I can swim.
I'm sinking and I'm drowning,
because my gaze is set too high.
while my body's still treading water,
my mind is trying to fly.
I'm sick with this desire
to rise higher than most dare,
I'm infected with this feeling
trapped in a cupboard under the stairs.
but there's no magic in this world,
nothing new for me to bring,
just a selfish prayer
and a malnourished offering.
there's no god for me to worship,
no altar I can burn,
no promises I can make,
that will slow this twister's turn;
there's no way I can ever stand
among the stars over my head
because my ship's still sinking
and I'm trapped inside my head.
I'm solo and slowly drowning,
and I can't be good enough
for my own personal critic
that chokes me like a glove.
I'm sinking and rowing circles,
my rudder's bent to hell,
I'm convulsing with delusions
that this is all good for my health.
the ache that's got me choking
on the ever-present pain.
please put me out of misery
since you cannot cure me sane.