 His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready to drop bombs But he keeps on forgetting what he wrote down The whole crowd goes so loud, he opens his mouth But the words won't come out, he's choking how Everybody's choking now, the clock's run out Time's up, over, plow, snap back to reality