Scherbatsky

Did Bukowski ever drink enough? Did Ayn Rand ever write enough? Is my life too totally fucked? I might go, and then I'm bummed out Yeah, these are things I contemplate As I sit alone in bed all day Without a job to pay my loans and I think That I know that I can't help that So much lost potential I'm not leaving I'm not ready I can't wait to be alone again It's ridiculous But I still sit around and wonder Is it better off That me and all my friends Stay inside and criticize And drink enough to make up For the new year And every new year I know I can't help that So much lost potential I'm not leaving I'm not ready I can't wait to be alone again