Lowman

I'm bad at being me
I sweat and shake profusely when I see
A girl I like
I'd rather ride a bike
I push it off on God
Expect him to solve everything
And sit right on my ass
As clouds and minutes pass
And I fade away
I fade away
I'm bad at making love
I think I've never made it quite at all
And I dress like a stupid, stinking mess
I care what people think
I teeter on the brink
And I fall off
Hooked on drinks and nasty cancer sticks
I'm bad at making friends
Alone in my apartment
That I call my department
'Cause it's a depressing apartment
The devil knows me well
He's guided me through several living hells
It's ironic that I'm becoming slightly thick
As I fade away
I fade away
Another in a chain
Of self important manic singer, songwriter refrains
Another lonely Jew
Who thinks the pen can battle all the guns they draw at you
But its only if you
Na na na na na
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na
I'm bad at writing songs
Post-progressive punk rock sing-alongs
They're not apt
To sell my plastic ass
What do they lack?
That they somehow relate to me
Then forget me in a year
Like a love once held so dear
And I'll fade away
I'll fade away
I fade away
I'll fade away