I am the, I am the, I am the sick boy And we can pick sides, but this is us, this is us, this is I live on the west side of America How many likes is my life worth? I'm from the east side of America They say that I am the sick boy Feed yourself with my

I am the, I am the, I am the sick boy And we can pick sides, but this is us, this is us, this is I live on the west side of America How many likes is my life worth? I'm from the east side of America They say that I am the sick boy Feed yourself with my

Enter into a circle of light, engraved in flesh stare in my eyes, I will not bow down, the only truth pulling words form my lips Tearing me within this life will Remain a mystery to you until the day you pass away Speak lies spilling from your lips as

I am the, I am the, I am the sick boy And we can pick sides, but this is us, this is us, this is I live on the west side of America How many likes is my life worth? I'm from the east side of America They say that I am the sick boy Feed yourself with my

The sickness of this world is destroying all the dreams The fools are kings, tearing apart the soul The race for complication, communicate reaction The lack of heart of men, I grow distant from the core Borrow this body for a lifetime, earthly material

What I would give to sleep my life away I'd never feel alone again And yet it's still the same when I'm dreaming Cause at the end of the day it's just me in my own head What's the point of existence With this incurable sickness Just show me the door Give

You are the end of everything This is the end of everything I think I'm gonna be sick and it's your fault I haven't slept since I woke up You are wrong, fucked, and overrated And found my whole life was a lie, motherfucker Shallow skin, I can paint with

I'd like to think that our love's worth a tad more It may sound funny but you'd think by now I'd be smilin' Sick of this life Not that you'd care I'm not the only one With whom these feelings I share Sometimes I feel like I'm beatin' a dead horse I guess

My life has meaning again Sittin' on the interstate The end of another day Feeling tired, feeling beat up, feeling small Sick of running this rat race And Coming last place Feeling like I don't matter at all Then I walk through the door She says "I

I am the, I am the, I am the sick boy And we can pick sides, but this is us, this is us, this is I live on the west side of America How many likes is my life worth? I'm from the east side of America They say that I am the sick boy Feed yourself with my