I'm drifting tonight, thinking and struggling
i feel like a capsized boat
and all that i moan and all that i suffer
i can't find any hope
Then it hits me like a brick
in a hundred years, in a hundred years
then it hits me like a brick
in a hundred years, who will remember it?
Then i'll rather run around and sing this song
and consider my life a novel.
and eat with god like a fucking pig
and drink the joy out of a bottle
Then it sinks in a little bit
in a hundred years, in a hundred years
then it sinks in a little bit
in a hundred years, who will remember it?
Then i'd sooner put an end to the struggle
and walk into the ocean, with my suffering soul
the world will find me there sometime later
a corpse, naked and cold.
Then i think about it
in a hundred years, in a hundred years
then i think about it
in a hundred years, who will remember it?
Then its better to wander and live,
and write about every Christmas
and die like a mogul of a book,
more a protagonist, than a witness
Then it brings me all in
in a hundred years, in a hundred years
then it brings me all in
in a hundred years, who will remember it?