i'm a pitiful creature
fueled by the hope of a new day,
but every night i fall asleep disappointed,
and you're sick of empty promises.

every morning i drag myself up
to some semblance of self-sufficience,
beat myself against the walls
and wonder why i won't change.
every night i fall asleep disappointed,
and you're sick of empty promises.

my mouth is moving. you've heard this before,
but we'll both pretend my number's not up.
rhetoric won't get me out of this,
and you're sick of empty promises,
but i'm not sick of trying just yet.