No rest for the wicked,

no time to play.

Just the pounding of drums in my head,

every single day.

What does it mean?

Who’s to say?

I can’t even dream,

without the beat ruining it in some way.

There it goes,

pounding in my head.

No one else knows,

Maybe they’ll stop when I’m dead.

No rest for the wicked,

not today.

Not ever satisfied,

No how, not ever, no way.