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