Where do we go, when we ‘lose’ ourselves?
Wandering around the streets looking for meaning in the meaningless
I’ll go to bed with you, close my eyes and pretend it gives me a sense of value
Tell myself it’s only pleasure seeking
But inside I know it’s real connection that I’m craving
And I lay in these dirty sheets with a stranger by my side
Questioning just how satisfied I feel
Did I really want this?
But I know that I’ll laugh about it
Later on, when we get together to go over it
Dissecting our antics like a Michael McIntyre comedy show
A perverse sort of observation of our behaviour
We’ll drink our wine and pretend it’s all just living
Because that’s what our culture tells us, so it must be true
But I can’t help feeling like I’ve been cheated
And all this freedom I’m practising is poisoning
My mind, my flesh
All given over to lust
Lust of a freedom that promises so much, but delivers up dust
The banquet that I feasted on, now seems empty
Like Peter Pan, pretending that air can feed me
When will I grow up?