My Hands Are Cold

People miserable as fuck because nothing’s as it seems
Say goodbye to coming clean of your dreams
It’s too hard to relate when I’m full of so much hate
It doesn’t matter if the clocks held up by splinters
The hands still move round
Round and round and round and round
It doesn’t matter if you’re held up by splinters
You’re just mainly sight and sound
Could you even feel falling down?
Getting older, golden age
I guess I can’t see the best until I’ve seen the worst
But there’s something in my head
They’re fucking with my head
Walk any street they’re all the same cause winters home too soon again
A generation’s vice, slip on ice
Feel it coming down tonight
Getting older, golden age
Can you feel the lies inside?
A place for everything and everything in its place
It’s the same thing every day because we’ve all run out of things to say
They’re fucking with my head