Tekster: Four Fingers. Good Luck With The Surgery. Cogito Ergo Sum.

Twenty four hours in a day, seven days a week
Fifty-two weeks in a year, but it?s all just the same to me
When I?m in a group or all alone, my mind gets the best of me
I doubt all my doubt, hoping hope will, make it cease to exist

I want a way out, a vacation, to get me, out of, of here
I need a break from, from all this shit, before I, go go, insane
A place I can go, and just fucking breathe, and not get, so so, so choked
I know this place exists, I?ve been there before, but its been, so long, too long

Conversations I have with myself, often lead me astray
Though I find I get the best results by thinking in this way
Between self-reflection and confusion, I can?t stand to feel
If I could shut my brain off, then tomorrow would seem real

I want a way out, a vacation, to get me, out of, of here
I need a break from, from all this shit, before I, go go, insane
A place I can go, and just fucking breathe, and not get, so so, so choked
I know this place exists, I?ve been there before, but its been, so long, too long