dreaded hang overs and handouts
made to believe in something else
for the sake of belief in anything
and yet there's nothing here to think;
there's been plenty done in the head,
and it's tiring itself out in here,
so it's got to find a way to get out.

the thing is we don't get out alive
and we're all bound here
in one form or another; we're stuck
as we're sticking ourselves,
poking and prodding for life
that we're all aware is here.

yet, there's this unyielding need
to feel something at one point
as well as at some other,
but nobody's pointed it out to anyone
and we're all blindly aiming ourselves
to destinies we're uncertain of;
but we're all out here living before we start dying.