My thoughts are racing at a manic pace
Adjacent, I'm on automatic
My whole body isn't syncing
The urgency inside my bones
Ache for somewhere else to go
Impatient shaking under my skin

Auto pilot
Progress stagnant
This can't be it
The American dream Is dead
Exhausted
We lost it
In my head
The American dream is dead

A haunted headstock won't go away
A whisper that's become a habit
Getting louder than my thinking

So I'll sit and play the lottery
Until I've run out of time and money
And I feel that point inching toward my back
Is it time to wake these anxious eyes
From fiction fed back in 95'
But I've got a few more minutes
And a handful of dimes
The American dream is dead