i know this seems self-centred but i am so i don't care
though things have gone to shit i still look good in underwear
i save up my best life for my social media
a healthy mix of comedic vulnerability for love
i think i'm running out of time
no-one's problems outweigh mine
what's wrong with nights alone and wine?
i spend my time walking around talking to ghosts
but what's real is my friend's lost two kids
i should get over myself and all my fucking business
sometimes i lie awake at night consumed by jealousy
with all my catholic shame that radiates from inside me
i romanticise over thoughts of you and i
from holidays to christmas plays to being the father of your child
i think i'm running out of time
no-one's problems outweigh mine
and you are never on my mind
i move around this space shuffling from wall to wall
but what's the answer? my friend's get cancer
i should get out of my head and over myself