What is this sickness,
I carry inside,
It is called procrastination.
I caught the disease,
A few years a go,
From school and isolation.

I choose to do nothing,
I forget about things,
I could care less if they are finished.
This is my life now,
I slowly waste away,
And my hope is completely diminished.

So who cares what happens,
I'm ******* no matter what,
So there's no point to even trying.
So I guess I'm giving up,
On the things I need,
That's what I'm implying.