Lyrics

Screenplays of mistakes have been killing my numbers.
Short Films Cliché lines have taken up all of my time.
I can?t feel anything.

I threw it away all my dreams have gone to waste. My time is up it?s something you cannot replace. Maybe I will find what I could be; maybe I will find what I could be in the end.

Headaches with cheap wine make up most of the script.
I?d fake my own death before I read another word of it.
I want to escape.

Breathe like there?s no tomorrow, lets live and forget the sorrow.