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 fortyeight years old


I can be the hungry, as i eat my words again, appealing yet appalling

rising to my falling, I'm going to extreme ends, I'm gagging on their scene

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're gagging on your scene


admit to fraudulence


Driven to this thought

Death is certain, faith is not

Composition competition you drive competition

Competition I'm losing


I fail it in the end