Clawfinger

you do everything right for all the wrong reasons
and you use all the tricks of the trade
From the tip of your toes to the tip of your tongue
you've carefully planned your crusade
It's all surface no substance, all payed in advance
but you're the one paying the price
and the only thing left will be a hole in your pocket
when everyone else gets their slice/has been given their slice
where are you now, what have you done
what have you got left, what have you become
you had the world in your hands but it slipped through
your fingers and now look at what you've become
The masterplan wasn't yours you were just the excuse
To squeeze out some juice from the fruit
and nobody cares about your personal life
all you are is the latest recruit
the sweet smell of success has a foul aftertaste