you ungrateful bastard
finding fault
wherever you go
all this information
all this technology
all these experts
all this music
all these cities
too much
it’s just too much
and yet…
i can’t seem to get enough
feel sorry for the losers
who think they are winning
feel bad for the oppressed
who i’m too weak too save
year after year
stare ate the world through windows
and screens
and filters in my eyes
and biases in my brain
what the fuck is this?
lights and sounds and moments flying by
like formula 1 cars
i know what i need
and what is right
but apart of me doesn’t give a fuck
he wants to know what it feels like
to not give a fuck
what if it really doesn’t matter
whether we are in solitary confinement
or dying of aids in a gutter
with no arms and our tongues cut out
who will survive death?
who will not feel like they are being skull fucked
at the moment when you lose it all
lets face it
we are all here
to comfort each other
there might be a way out
but that is a solo project, i’m afraid
that is a death, in a way
the end of you and who you think you are
nobody wants that
except the crazy ones
and no i don’t mean steve jobs crazy
that was just a marketing trick
i mean the truly insane
who kill for pleasure
they know what it’s like
to not feel anything
after you do the most terrible thing
they are proof
that it is possible
that we are all pieces
in a puzzle
floating like turds in space
no drugs have ever actually worked
if you pay attention
press play
press next
whatever happens
you know who to call