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?