tell me what have i done wrong

Wake up in the morning, I look at my clock
It's way past noontime, I'm late for work.
Tell me what have I done wrong?
Nothing can go right with me, it must be that I've been smoking too long

Go to fix me some breakfast, I ain't got no food
Take me a shower, the water don't feel no good.
Tell me what have I done wrong?
and nothing can go right with me, must be that I've been smoking too long



Günlerdir içimdeki nostalji hissi artık hüzün değil sinirle dolduruyor beni. Nefret ediyorum. İngiltere öncesi hayatım hiç olmamış gibi, sanki yaşadıklarım başkasının anılarıymış gibi geliyor. Herkesten tamamen kopmuş haldeyim, okuduğum hikayelerin içine karışmaya başlıyorum sanki yavaş yavaş.

Velvet Goldmine'dan Oscar Wilde'la ilgili bir sahne geliyor aklıma:

"There were times when it appeared to Dorian Gray that the whole of history was merely the record of his own life, not as he had lived it in act and circumstance, but as his imagination had created it for him, as it had been in his brain and in his passions. He felt that he had known them all, those strange terrible figures that had passed across the stage of the world and made sin so marvelous and evil so full of subtlety. It seemed to him that in some mysterious way their lives had been his own."