I produce too much of something, not enough of something else
But the doctors cannot help me with the puzzle of my health
And I’m tired of easy music
And I’m tired of pretty girls
And I’m tired of being tired
And I’m tired of being hurt

I am the soldier at the back who is burdened by his books
Though I stare into the mirror, it does not tell me how I look
So I’m shaving in the darkness and I’m turning in my sleep
And I’m turning like a monster with a dead man in his teeth