But we're all just part of some giant grand machine.
Too big to really understand.
But we'll do our jobs till we break down and fall.

Now we just sleepwalk. We drift through the week.
A dead procession always dragging its feet. Well, come on.
Our hands are swollen. We all need to sleep.
But there's no time, just stitch us up so we'll keep.

We're all just part of someone's elaborate plan.
Chess pieces in some grandiose scheme.
But we'll do our jobs till we break down and fall.

Restless, restless. Listening to the same Joy Division song on repeat. Thinking about all the places I'd rather be. I'd always rather be somewhere else. I wonder what will happen when I get somewhere else. Will I miss home?

Feeling too much is difficult. I don’t sense that anything is a big deal so it is nearly impossible to register when something actually is important; what should I be doing, where should my hands be placed?

I remember when I had things to say. I remember when I had things I wanted to say, was waiting to say. But now I’m just blank.