Dim echoes of life, lived in five-hour segments.
We paint out our eyes with pictures so meaningless.
Pretend it's all worth every drop of consequence.
You'll cover your fall with all your exuberance.

Passion fills all forms, even empty and sickened men.
I don't doubt your convictions, just if you're living by them.
Wake up with a stab of realizing all you said
just covers the fact your truths stop at your forehead.

And I am getting sick of waiting
for you to get your shit together.
And I am getting sick of waiting.

Leave so far behind all the things that you promised me.
Can't swallow that we're only who we allow ourselves to be.
You squint in the light, but I know you won't change a thing.
And the longer this lasts, the more I'm afraid of what time will bring.

And I am getting sick of waiting
for you to get your shit together.
And I am getting sick of waiting