I'd love to control myself, but I need to make up time
So give me some credit, I could've left and put it all behind
I'm diving headlong into decomposition, looking for the steepest decline
I'd love to end it, but everyone says that I should get into my life
My marathon is the shortest one yet, it's measured in thoughts and outbursts
I'll only finish when my mind is diminished, or the only thing I feel is hurt
And speaking of romance, I'm taking no chance, this is all I have to give
A solemn admission of my lack of ambition and deficiency of will to live
What will I do now?