Stop making me dance!

You wake up, you open your sad little eyes, throughout the whole night they've been telling you lies. You're talking to yourself, you're going insane, don't know if what you're feeling is numbness or pain. Another day, you say, another sorrow, maybe I'll feel ecstatic tomorrow. You scream at God: 'Please stop making me dance! Because I don't know what to do with my hands.' Will you stop making me run? Can't you see I'm not having much fun? Will you please stop making me dance? You go outside, you touch the sky, 'Why am I here?' 'There's nothing left here for me', you fear. I'm going to be sick, my dear.