Label above

I listened to the Doors for hours, never became Jim Morrison,
Watched Pulp Fiction on endless repeat, and still the nineties won’t come back
Argued with my mom all night, and still she’s dead and disappointed,
Leered after all the girls, I danced with, and still they grew up and carried on.

Old face in my mirror, too tired to shave,
Old voices in my head, why do I still respond,
Old hopes, old dreams, old habits,
Silence scares them back again.

There’s got to be a different task,
Some flecks that I still missed
What will I be, what should I try?
Who wants to live my life?