To Have Or To Be by Museum (band) Lyrics
This is a crisis
With ticking time, calendars and canonballs
So I question what this life is
Teenage dreams of fame, the motorway or swimming lanes
There's a problem to my crisis
It lasted 22 years, 7 months and 7 days
Still I wonder where my mind is
With all that ticking time, calendars and canonballs
I'm ten times sore
Hoping it's a star no satelite that blinds me
I'm very bored
Fighting myself much harder than I fight them
It's in my TV screen, in my self-esteem, my forgotten dream, in the things I've seen
In the things I don't see anymore, in the death I'm trying to ignore
In the tuned up cars, in the teenage whores, in the words I say without a cause
In the credit cards, in the desperate hearts, in the hollow words, in the pop-star
Get me out of here, get me out of here, get me out of here, get me out of here
Get me out of here, get me out of here, who will?
So analyse this analysis
When the rockets come in everyday form and I'm still not gone
It seems I'm not much of a good time
With my worried mind (be happy) and my canonballs
I'm ten times sore
Hoping it's a star no satelite that blinds me
I'm very bored
Fighting myself much harder than I fight them
It's bitter to consider
That it's myself and not the world that kills me
It's bitter to consider
That it's myself and not the world that kills me
With ticking time, calendars and canonballs
So I question what this life is
Teenage dreams of fame, the motorway or swimming lanes
There's a problem to my crisis
It lasted 22 years, 7 months and 7 days
Still I wonder where my mind is
With all that ticking time, calendars and canonballs
I'm ten times sore
Hoping it's a star no satelite that blinds me
I'm very bored
Fighting myself much harder than I fight them
It's in my TV screen, in my self-esteem, my forgotten dream, in the things I've seen
In the things I don't see anymore, in the death I'm trying to ignore
In the tuned up cars, in the teenage whores, in the words I say without a cause
In the credit cards, in the desperate hearts, in the hollow words, in the pop-star
Get me out of here, get me out of here, get me out of here, get me out of here
Get me out of here, get me out of here, who will?
So analyse this analysis
When the rockets come in everyday form and I'm still not gone
It seems I'm not much of a good time
With my worried mind (be happy) and my canonballs
I'm ten times sore
Hoping it's a star no satelite that blinds me
I'm very bored
Fighting myself much harder than I fight them
It's bitter to consider
That it's myself and not the world that kills me
It's bitter to consider
That it's myself and not the world that kills me