You spend your daysnAt a dead end jobnWhere you just donWhat you are toldnAnd you come homenTo an empty placenFall asleep by the TV setnAnd on the weekendnYou get all drunknTry to escapenTill Monday comesnnWhy is it so we die just as copiesnIf it's so we're born originalsnnSo it goes, so it lingersnWhile life is slippingnThrough your fingersnAnd you're counting the daysnAs it seemsnWithout goalsnAnd without dreamsnnWhy is it so we die just as copiesnIf it's so we're born originalsnBurn, heart, burnnYearn, heart, yearnnnIt's so sad, it's not a lifenIt's a storage of a mannAnd I'm not askingnFor an easy timenBut I'm askingnFor a meaningful lifennWhy is it so we die just as copiesnIf it's so we're born originalsnBurn, heart, burnnLearn, heart, learnnWhy is it so we're all replaceablesnIt's because we're all predictables