Because I've always seen my life in other people,
Don't worry, the irony makes me choke,
That I can't just reach out and touch them.
My hand slips through them like smoke.
Because I study my life in other people,
But it's getting harder to tell
Whether it's memory or reflection I'm watching,
Either way, it all feels like hell.
Because I hold my life in my hands,
But everything's just that bit numb.
I can't feel if it hurts or I'm breathing,
Either way, I think that I'm done.