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