In the end, it's just this bad habit
Of waiting for later to live
That makes us unhappy and unsatisfied
So that we keep on consuming
Day after day until we can no longer take it
To forget, to make time go by
To burn our dreams one by one
Waiting for the next, waiting to be happy
Without quite ever make it
Because in the end, we're so used to wanting more
We can't even see that it's here and now that it takes place
And never otherwise
So tell me, where have you been all this time?