sometimes i think of old friends
  but they all seem the same
  then i see them, and they can't remember my name
  i guess i'm just like them, i guess i'm just a bore
  i could hate them, but i've never done that before
  i've got lots of good friends, i don't need any more
    and sometimes when you lie to me
  sometimes i'll lie to you
  and there isn't a thing you could possibly do
  all these half destroyed lives
  aren't as bad as the seem
  and then i see blood and i hear people scream
  then i wake up and it's just another bad dream
    [chorus]
    and i can't help myself by feeling sorry
  because i gave up every chance i had
  it's not a movement, it's just another fad
  like a cry for help in a world gone mad