Good

I'm not good, actually, heavy head and heavy heart, arguments sometimes are more painful than someone hits you in the head. No thoughts, no sore soul, just fall down and faint away.

I'm not good, actually, stuck in dreams although feet still wanna fly.

I'm not good, actually, like a chair on the stage after a show, they'll take away eventually in a certain warehouse.

But I'll be good or rather so-called, from tomorrow, like a chair in a certain warehouse, they have to bring onstage someday in the next show.