It's being cancelled before it's time.
It's getting drunk off a glass of wine.

It's a full moon through clouds of pollution.
It's talk, talk, talk and no revolution.

It's no result and all anticipation.
It's ******* your own imagination.

It's eating without satisfaction.
It's science with no chain reaction.

It's getting some and wanting more.
It's asked for I.D. at a liquor store.

It's getting old and wanting more.
It's hoping, praying that there is more.

It's dying before you read the end.
It's living for a life pretend.

It's a half-full take on an empty cup.
It's slitting wrists and waking up.

It's falling in love over and over again without a real sense of hope about the future or a true grasp of why you are here and what it all means and why the world works in such a backwards way and why they all lied to us and why they all have such lovely smiles and lovely eyes (and dynamite tastes and senses of humour) and why I was mixed together in such a way that I would have about twenty one solid years before I ceased to function as a healthy human being.
It's just -