I'm feeling rough, I'm feeling wrong, I'm the prime of my life.

Let's make some music,
make some money, find some models for wives.

I'll move to Paris,
shoot some heroin, and fuck with the stars.

You man the island,
and the cocaine, and the elegant cars.

This is our decision,
to live fast and die young.

You've got the vision,
now let's have some fun.

Yeah, it's overwhelming,
but what else can we do?,
Get jobs and offices,
and wake up for the morning commute.

Forget about our mothers and friends,
we're fated to pretend, to pretend,
to pretend.

We're fated to pretend,
to pretend.

I'll miss the playgrounds,
and the animals, and digging up the worms.

I'll miss the comfort of my mother,
and the weight of the world.

I'll miss my sister,
miss my father, miss my dog in my home.

I'll miss the boredom,
and the freedom, and the time spent alone.

There is really nothing,
nothing we can do.

Love must be forgotten,
life can always start up anew.

Models will have children,
we'll get a divorce.

We'll find some more models,
everything must run its course.

We'll choke upon our vomit,
and that will be the end.

We're fated to pretend,
to pretend.

We're fated to pretend,
to pretend.