Probability

Woke up at eleven, the sky was full of rain.
Called up BC7, had nothing to say.
There’s too many bad times, there’s too much in this life, but I cannot help
myself.
«You're living but you’re wrong».
I can’t get up out of bed, but I can’t get laid with you above my head saying «don't delay»
There’s too many bad times, there’s too much in this life.
Always hear voices in my headache:
«You're leaving but you’re wrong».
«You're living but you’re wrong».
«You're leaving but you’re wrong».
I ran to the toilets, my questions went away.
Probability’s instead, I’m gonna be ok.