This isn't happening; This isn't me.
Life is getting out of hand; Creating its own fantasy.
Usually it would be bartender bartender,
Send me a next drink; Wake up in the morning sick,
But life's still in sync.  Went to the windowpane,
And the rays of the sun graze sharply against my skin.
My heart beating slowly; My thoughts only wanting,
To explain themselves from within.
This is not the time; I'm to close but yet so far.
Is this dream getting to me; Or is my life on par?
No I'm just hanging over.
Yes thats right  hanging over the window,
Is my only option thus far.

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