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 need 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]
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
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