Dead Leaves

[(my) boastful! murmur?]

Ambition’s hard to gain with no manner of control,
drifting round in circles and living off the dole.
Dragged up in the morning and thrown to bed at night,
start to feel the pressure of living an empty life.

Look into the future at days of shame and squander.

The Critic is the enemy, laughing when you’re dead,
spray-painting “failure” till all you see is red.
Led into the ocean by the leading blind,
till the sky gets crowded then swept out by the tide.

Look into the mirror at a washed-up, faded, cringer.

The creeps are creeping down the ghost train,
dead leaves are blowing down memory lane.
All my life spent dreaming now I’ve stopped sleeping,
I’ve given up on useless thoughts of ideal living

[thoke]

I'm not so sure about this one. Some of the phrases you use seem a bit too cliched. Such as:

"drifting round in circles"
"living an empty life"
"down memory lane"
"all you see is red"