It's not your imagination
You've got no room to breathe
It's not your imagination
You've got no where to be
It's all turning into nothing
You're hurting everywhere
Takes all your concentration
Just tearing out your hair.
Tell your ma
Get your dad
I'm turning on (& on)
Don't you know what's going down?
Been overloading all year round,
Round, round.
It's not my imagination
I'm skinning up to sleep
And it's not enough
Why's it so rough
All these strange conversations
We still ain't "Let It Be"
Tell your ma
Get your dad
I'm turning on & on & on & on
& on & on & on
& off