4am, Tuesday morning.
Or maybe it is the evening?
To early to be awake but to late to be asleep.
Why is it so easy to think about,
everything that is wrong?
And everything is fucked up,
and everyone is horrible,
no matter who you vote for.
My eyes still burn when I cry,
even though I do it every night,
around seven after I talk to Jim Beam.
I’d like to kid myself that I’m happy.
But being happy is just a drug,
that makes you fuck all night long.
And everyone is sad or upset,
everyone has lost their goddamned mind,
because we were all born mad.
Gasoline was not made for human consumption.
Yet we drink it by the gallons, drink it like water.
I like the way it burns my tongue,
corrodes my insides and made me lose it.
No play, all work means you make that money.
Doesn’t really matter we all die, some day.
Who does it matter when they are up,
on that podium screaming,
yelling trying to get you to sell your soul.
Everyone is worrying about the future,
when it’s exactly just like the past.
And everyone is still exactly the same.
Nothing is changing, nothing is getting better.
It’s only ever for the worst.
Didn’t you get the memo?
It’s all the same shit, just under different colors.
Who cares if it’s blue or red?
Or cannabis or marijuana ?
We’d all be better if we,
fucked our morals,
became cannibals and ate each other.
It’s not illegal anyways.