Pour me another glass of apathy Shower me with your indifferent shrugs Give me that cold shoulder of yours Its high time I popped it in the microwave I’m sic of missing you laugh So why am I writing my epitaph? Simply said I’m better off dead That moaning for you in my sleep Shooting stars Make a wish Hope they don’t start shooting back Cause then we’d be avoiding more than one another Running for our lives Shouting at the top of our lungs The sky is falling Chicken Little run Can you imagine the look on people’s faces?