These Pigs Seem To Be Getting The Best Of Me

Sometimes I like to lay in bed and pretend like I died
Sometimes I stay like that til the day becomes night
Then I crank myself up and I set loose to fly
Like a bunch of restless bats finally coming to life.
And the places are the same but the faces are new
And my own face is somewhere between yellow and blue
And I’m pressing my luck just to see if I can
And I’m betting my soul and I’m losing again.
Cuz these pigs seem to be getting the best of me.
These fucking pigs seem to be getting the best of me.
These fucking pigs seem to be getting the best of me.
With so much to love, sometimes you wind up diseased.
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.
Oh!
Now I’m back in the sun and my fingers are scraping
And I can’t work the clasp, I can’t stop the shaking
And I’m making that face that only ever happens
When your life takes a shit in your pants and keeps crapping.
What happened to all of the «Oh, you’ll be fines?»
What happened to having plenty of time?
What happened to my fucking body and mind?
I poisoned them dry, but I’d still like to try
To wake up tomorrow and to feel myself grow in the sun
To finally face all the work I still need to get done
To quit being such a pussy
And run back into the storm where my demons come from.
But these pigs seem to be getting the best of me.
These fucking pigs seem to be getting the best of me.
Fucking pigs seem to be getting the best of me.
With so much to love, sometimes you wind up diseased.
With so much to love, sometimes you wind up diseased.
With so much to love, sometimes you wind up diseased.
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.
Oh!