Selective Memory Loss - Pure And Simple Mix

Static stocking feet
 on fuzzy beige plush shag.
 Talking through commercials
 and the standard sitcom lag.
 A shock to my system
 would be so incredibly welcome,
 but the room just keeps on waiting.
 The light just keeps on fading.
 Tonight I won't sleep.
 I don't want to dream.
 I don't own this life.
 I don't know what it means.
 Tonight I won't move.
 I don't want to feel.
 I don't know this place.
 I don't know what's real.
 Faking that I'm tired
 so I'm left alone to pout.
 Laying on the edge of comfort,
 sagging soft with doubt.
 A reason to revolt
 would be everything I need,
 but the air is stale and silent.
 The darkness somehow violent.
 Tonight I won't sleep.
 I don't want to dream.
 I don't own this life.
 I don't know what it means.
 Tonight I won't move.
 I don't want to feel.
 I don't know this place.
 I don't know what's real.
 Won't you show me
 how my choices have made me a whore?
 Can't you dare me to stop
 and not do this anymore?
 Even casual suggestions,
 or part-time interventions,
 would be better than the quiet
 of this pointless self-confession.
 Tonight I won't sleep.
 I don't want to dream.
 I don't own this life.
 I don't know what it means.
 Tonight I won't move.
 I don't want to feel.
 I don't know this place.
 I don't know what's real.