Paroles de Loathing

Bad at being me I sweat and shake profusely when I see A girl I like I'd rather ride a bike I push it off on God Expect him to solve everything and I sit right on my ass As clouds and minutes pass And I fade... away I fade... away Bad at making love I think I've never made it quite at all And I dress Like a stupid stinking mess I care what people think I teeter on the brink And I fall off Hooked on drinks And nasty cancer sticks I'm bad at making friends Alone in my apartment that I call my department Cause it's a depressing apartment The devil knows me well He's guided me through several living hells It's ironic that I'm becoming slightly thick As I fade... away I fade... away Another in a change A self important manic singer songwriter refrains Another lonely Jew Convinced the pen can battle all the guns they dry and chew But it's only if you Na na na na na Na na na na na na Na na na na na I'm bad at writing songs And post progressive punk rock singalongs They're not apps To sell my plastic ass What do they lack? That they somehow relate to me Then forget me in a year Like a love once held so dear And I fade... away I fade... away I fade... away I fade... away