I used to want this for a certain ending,
now motivation scatters and my drive’s descending down,
so why keep going with no desire,
so why keep showing up?
Growing up… Never thought it would kill you,
and kill my reasons,
never thought this world would die,
so why,
did it exist in the first place?
The only place I know you,
where the name can’t find your face,
to face me,
I used to have this fantasy everyday that was the source of my strength and my will, that I’d reach a point of popularity where you couldn’t get rid of me, well you’d hear about me, read about me, and see me on TV, and you’d hear me on the radio, guess with your friends about how much money I make, then I’d take it all right to your front door with my album in one hand and a gun in the other hand pointed at my head, then I’d give you everything that I had, say “Thanks for the inspiration.” Before I painted your kitchen window with my brains,
blown away,
by the thought of fame,
I used to want fame to use against you,
maybe it’s the same,
maybe I still want to,
I used to want fame,
to hold against you,
maybe it’s the same,
maybe I still want to love you.