Sixpence None The Richer

These things which I so often wonder
This need to create myself
Frustration forgotten through slumber
It's there when I wake
Defeated before I rise
I'd pull myself out of his mire
If I could collect my strength
Or muster an ounce of desire
Finding the words, and making them mine
Is there somewhere
I could seperate this feeling from memory
Disconnect myself from me?
Desire inside to mistreat you
It pushes words out of my mouth
This cyclical pattern I feed you
The back and forth, and up and down