Print

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 forty-eight 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 From Letras Mania