Stepping hard on the gas, burning that rubber. In a cloud of smoke, the smell of hot rubber. That guy he can go, scream, and shout, that is so cool. Away on the track, tires worn down and little grip. In the first corner he goes over, into the abyss of depression.
Light up that grill, lots of coal, let it burn. Party is on, smoking hot, the smell of success. That guy can party, scream, and shout, we want a piece. Time for you, time for you, time to eat, hard to breathe. Meat has been left to burn, nobody left, he goes to the cold floor of depression.
I got time, time for you, let me set it up. Piles of work, the buzz of keyboard punch and meeting calls. That guy can work, scream, and shout, we want a piece. Close that deal, finish that project, hard to think. Getting home there is nothing there, he goes to the closet of depressing emptiness.
Get off that floor, come on push, every muscle burns, burning to stop. Like a wet blanket depression weighing you down. Come on it is up to you, don’t be a loser and feel sorry for yourself. But the battery is flat, it is flat, set to Off. Depression took the charger!
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