(T. Sly/C. Shiflett/M. Riddle/R. Koff)Sitting in the lazy chair, the channelslook the sameI realize that the roof is stable and startto feel ashamedit's cold outside but don't ask me theweather's fine in hereask the man around the corner wholives his life in fearTwo hundred pennies, forty ounces laterhe's okayhe doesn't have the pressure to thinkabout the next daybut I bet it's something cold and hardand greyComplaining and whining all the time, Inever seem to quitalways lying to myself, a shoe thatseems to fitnever is a long time and it feels like I'ma clockticking like a time bomb, someday soonhis life will stopI listen to the radio but nothinggood is onmy friends are calling up but I'mpretending that I'm gonewe're all pieces in a chess game,he's a pawnI wonder how it turned out like this, noone seems to carethe scale has tipped me fortunate is thiswhat we call fair?but I've never had the mind to no it,never had the guts to show itI know one thing, his dream is mynightmare