Think I’ve got a problem, but I won’t ever tell. So now I’m running backwards through my own living hell. Think I’m overcompensating for things I can’t afford. Maybe it’s because I’m angry, or really I’m just bored. Think I’ve got a problem with everyone I know. Stuck inside my own head they finally left me alone. Now I got a problem everywhere I go. This conjecture seems to fester and it’s all I’ll ever know. Have I lost my fucking mind? Each day I fall further behind in this slow steady mental decline. Now need I remind you that I feel completely fine? I just have the tendency to find the flaw in every picture. There’s no use for me pointing out all the wrong I see as if I had the answers. But are we supposed to be so fucking narcissistic? I don’t know but I can’t fix it. See I answered my own question. Does that answer your question? Yeah, it’s good enough for me. So here we go again playing dead on the floor. Long run, long gone, it sure was fun, but it’s overdone and now I’m the one to tell myself that I’ve become what I thought I hated for so long. But I’ve heard it all before and I’m pretty sure that I was just angry, young and bored.

You say I’ve become bitter and the taste that’s left is making you sicker. And you can’t even stomach – my mouth stays closed because I know I’ve been punished. Taking my time to waste yours and I’m finally conditioned to swallow words that have gotten me by while you choke on your ambition. You say I’ve become bitter and the thing in my chest just caves in quicker. It’s making me feel sicker. It just goes to show I know I’m owed nothing. Wasting my time staring at the floor, I’ve made no decisions to give up what’s been bottled inside. And I still have no ambition. I try to roll myself out of my bed but it’s no fun and I stopped listening to the voices in my head, but I miss them. And these walls are covered with false prophets, and holy ghosts of a rebel fist. But it’s all the same, we’ll all complain until we got what we want and its here to stay!

I hope you’re doing fine. I hope you’re feeling ok. Is it so fucking difficult to watch the world give up on giving you? We’re given our time, and that is all we got. You’re so fucking cynical you have the whole world already figured out. Have you made up your mind? Or has it been determined by the ones that put you here, dressed you up, put up on display? You have your choices – a mannequin, a servant. Spokesman for the inundated, you lost your will and your reputation. We’re only given one chance. You think we’re being watched. We’re jumping off the deep end. It’s making me uneasy. Seeing can’t be believing when we follow so blindly. We’re jumping off the deep end. We’re jumping off the deep end.

How does it feel up on your throne? For now you lay lifeless, but you’ll always be known. Known as the king, you’re fucking Jesus Christ praying for the affection that the other’s sacrifice. They’re still here pleading your case, living in fear. Bite your tongue, familiar face. Keep your mouth shut like you’re such a fucking saint. How does it feel up on your pedestal while we’re stripped away of innocence to keep you on the payroll? Paying the price to keep your name clean. While swallowing another pill on the way to therapy. They’re still here pleading your case, living in fear. Bite your tongue familiar face. Keep your mouth shut like you’re such a fucking saint. They’re still here pleading your case, living in fear. Bite your tongue familiar face. They’re hanging they’re heads in shame. Oh, you’re such a fucking saint.

“So tell me that I’m wrong because I want no one to feel like they’re sheltered, forced to be a model of the year. Do your leaders keep you safe? Or make sure you don’t lose faith? Exploited vulnerability puts you in the sort of state.” Where suddenly the world around you isn’t all that great. Now you start to question every fucking word they say. I know we’re not all victims. I’m starting to believe this is all contradiction. So where’s your fucking revolution? It’s alright, we’ll be fine. We don’t have to wait. We’re getting anxious, getting bored. There’s too much on your plate. All our time is wearing thin. It seems that way to me. But we’ll just keep pointing fingers, that’s how we’re brought up to be. “Now with questions in your face there’s no one to sign the check. Has your agenda been compromised? Well, what did you expect? It’s ok, we’ve got our faith in the man on our TV. How do we control ourselves while we’re begging on our knees?” Suddenly the world around me goes against the grain. I guess that’s fine. I don’t mind. Keep me entertained. You’re not fooling anyone. It’s textbook I suspect. You’ll find out that it gets stale. It gets old pretty quick. It’s alright, we’re doing fine. Time is ours to waste. Do I have half the mind to wipe the spit off of my face? Or will I let it linger until the cross the line? Now we’re just pointing fingers, now it’s a victimless crime. So suddenly the world around you isn’t all that great. Now you start to question every fucking word they say. I know we’re not all victims. I’m starting to believe this is all contradiction. So where’s your fucking revolution?

Let’s wake up every day, kiss the morning sun and say, “it’s good to know that nothing more could ever come my way.” I’d gladly sell my soul and watch it fall into the hole I dug up for myself so long ago. Miserable routine, please take it out on me. Because I’m the one responsible for things you can’t accomplish. I guess it’s not like either of us have a choice at all, but if the pressure someday breaks me I think I’m better off. It’s not right, no, it’s not fair. I know just how you feel. Swallowing my honesty each day is fucking killing me. I forgot I’m here for entertainment. I get off on counting change, and cleaning up the spills of this fucking corporate daycare. Pseudo operation to cover up discrimination. Let me just say it’s not well hidden all swept underneath the rug. Another cop out, such a big man – a hero. Minds so narrow bite the barrel just to keep collecting. Dance puppet, dance. Not so loyal and assured. Better get yourself together. Tell me, who do you love more? It’s all about community, at least that’s what they say. But I refuse to be part of this machine fueled by your bigotry, oh no.

It doesn’t make much sense to drag on this codependency, feeding your excessive need for acceptance. Or is it supplement? Making up for what you couldn’t get on your own? Stay close to home because you won’t be fit to help yourself anytime soon. You might call it convenience. I call it a crutch. And you’re full of shit cause your system of justice calls on conduct with merciless outcomes. And any sense you seem to lack keeps you confined to your cul-de-sac. Born here, die here. Wanted ads for some fucking kid in a body bag. Kneel to your fathers. Not present, they won’t bother to fund this fucking pile of shit. That’s been bred and left a burden to mothers. Working class, do the math, these stories write themselves. But at least have the fucking dignity to take the blame for this mess you made. I’m not kidding I won’t start getting a hold of myself. My hands are tied too tight. Are you judging me or what’s become of me? Still holding onto the impression. I’m over it, not holding in whatever’s on my chest. I quit trying. It’s useless. No one’s buying into the bullshit I spew almost every day. It’s getting old. I’m not learning anything, just repeating what’s already been said to me. Conscience clear. Now I’m here to argue with myself.

Pull the plug. Let’s call it quits. And while we’re at it, lets admit defeat. We have no leg to stand on. I give up. You called my bluff. I finally get it. I’ve had enough. I think I over-filled my own cup. As I grow up, I figure out the world’s not changing. I just need to learn how to control myself, cause teenage angst will get you nowhere when your cover’s blown. And I know one day it will all come back to me. I think I’m too late. Its catching up too quick. Targeted and ready, please give me something I’m running low on useless quips in my attempt to avoid hypocrisy. As I grow up, I figure out the world’s not changing. I just need to learn how to control myself, cause teenage angst will get you nowhere when your cover’s blown. Targeted and ready, please give me something I’m running low on useless quips in my attempt to avoid hypocrisy.

Let’s teach the kids that it’s all about faith as they watch little boys get scraped off the pavement. Their eyes are covered but they can’t look away. We’ve been so spoiled. Been so loyal. Thinking we’re protected. Untouchable, infallible, and no one could suspect their innocence would be stripped straight from their pockets. Until dead on the scene. Bloodstained clothes put on the market. A story, now an anecdote will only take your place. A reputation for nothing. A name without a face. It seems reality has struck and we’re too unprepared. How do we teach the kids to praise the things we used to fear? When we refuse to break tradition and neglect our own instinct. As long as they wear a name no one objects. Let’s pretend like the like the harmless banter is nothing of to speak. If that’s what helps your conscience settle, whatever helps you sleep. You know fucking well, your admission makes you choke. You’re just another worthless sheep veiling your own cut throat.

Am I falling victim to falling back in line? I get the feeling that I’m losing every time. I’ll never play your games. I feel no shame in taking a shit on your parade. Until the end my time is spent perfecting a cliché. So lately I want to be absolutely nothing. Appetite for apathy – my form of self destruction. So lazy – a wannabe. Refusal to break character. At the end of the day nothing fucking matters. We know it’s time well spent. With everything we’ve read. For us to find our place just to fill up more useless space. A backdrop for your rebellion. I’ll sit back and watch it fall. I’ll hear your spirits crumble when your uniform fits too small. No place to go and no chance of ever getting by. When life revolves around a cheap haircut and an even cheaper smile. Are we falling for it again? Are we falling for it again? We’ll be falling for it again.

“Prestigious. Controlled. Maladjusted. Sounded good on paper but tell me, how can we sell it?” What do you have to offer? Is this your rebellion? Politely shaking hands, another song and dance for the mindlessly glaring public. Have we come to terms with the statements that we make coming only a close second to an image we forced ourselves to create? No further discussion, we’re content where we fit. Can we mean what we say? Or must we always obey to be sure no progress is made? “Prestigious. Controlled. Maladjusted. Looks good on the surface, but will we do it justice?” What happened to our morals? Can we even remember? Now let’s put on a show like we don’t even know we’ve already been made to surrender. Fistful of one liners and handy contradictions. A mouthful? We’re not so sure. We’re here only to listen. Quiet down you’re much too loud when you tell us what you’re thinking. What’s this all for? We’re not so sure. Our looks aren’t too deceiving.

It seems that I’ve been misinformed. But I lost my handbook, and I burned my uniform. So wear your badges proudly as you smile and scoff at me. Cause you know I’m the biggest fan of this cheap imitation walking hand in hand. And we know it’s ok, cause we play so fast no one has anytime to ask. We just say “fuck them all,” not knowing when we’re wrong. And you’re about as believable as the words you scribble like mindless drivel on a bathroom stall. I’d love to see this questioned on the streets without the help of your bibles and the riddles that you speak. I can’t seem to understand this as a business, as a plan, as a veil for my own selfish demand. So what are we laughing at? And who’s fighting for us if we don’t know where we stand? Will we still look back and laugh when we’re crushed by the weight of failure? The failure to react. Please don’t look at me. All this tension’s so distracting. I get the feeling that I don’t belong, now by a show of hands why don’t you prove me wrong? And we know it’s ok, cause we played so fast no one had any time to ask. We just said “fuck them all,” not knowing we were wrong.