sometimes i think of old friends but they all seem the same then i see them, and they can't remember my name i guess i'm just like them, i guess i'm just a bore i could hate them, but i've never done that before i've got lots of good friends, i don't want any more and sometimes when you lie to me sometimes i'll lie to you and there isn't a thing you could possibly do all these half destroyed lives aren't as bad as the seem and then i see blood and i hear people scream then i wake up and it's just another bad dream (chorus) twice and i can't help myself by feeling sorry because i gave up every chance i had it's not a movement, it's just another fad like a cry for help in a world gone mad