Woes to those that are born.
Weeping as they're pulled from the womb.
For what but a paradise lost?
The spite for the vessel that bore the fruit.
Already longing to go home.
I am poor.
Economically, emotionally, spiritually.
Can't grow nothing
but this tangled thorns.
Omg, I can't believe
that I exist
on borrowed time, no less.
Excuse me if I make a mess,
I've always tried my best.
But I can't tolerate myself,
the reason I can't stand still:
don't want to meet nobody
that speaks like me moves like me thinks like me.
Forgive me. I am poor.
They taught me to always run & hide,
just keeping the eyes on how to survive.
Not to inspire to anything more than a wife.
I remember the first time I had to lie
to say a novel I was reading wasn't mine
to save it from being teared apart
because it's not on the final test.
I thought I wasn't strong enough
to completely tell them to fuck themselves.
So instead I built this beautiful wall,
and invested in multi-layered control.
Yeh, ma & pa, thank you for preparing me
for the "real" world.
Just when you are getting comfortable,
you find out there's ways, ways & ways to go.
Maybe it's the ego that's insatiable,
always, always, always looking for something new.
Maybe it's the curse of never having a home,
or maybe I'm still a kid in the candy store.
But please, please, please show me
what is this all for.
What makes you want to be another person?
Assume the precise loco motions?
Generate the sparks by selling the cells?
In the end not to have a life at all?
The actor thinks it's all a joke.
The laughters & tears can last in films.
But we are not the same,
I'm in a different place.
Maybe another time,
I will remember the name.
To act in order to be,
makes yourself nice & cheap.
All the puppets have strings,
one day they will end up a messy heap.
But what other ways to live?
You trying to kill me?
Bossing me like I'm your secretary?
Your bottom bitch?
Coming down a ton of bricks?
No warning nor a friendly reprieve?
It's all up to me, huh?
Well, I'm telling you to wait.
The good times are looking vague.
You know what I'm saying?
Yeh, you better walk away.
You think you are grade A?
Well, I have seen you shiver
at the first sigh of hard labor.
"Tough" ain't in your vocabulary,
so step out of my way.
And shield your eyes,
your fairy land's built
on the slaughter lane.
Hey, don't hate the player,
you ain't even in the game.
High morals & low dresses,
you dizzy yet? Of course not.
Who you're looking at
but your brand new bitch boss?
I want to die wondering
what tomorrow brings,
observing the crystalized moments
form a complete palette,
and finally, the perfect freedom to create
a life that's more real than it's ever been.
Under the surface, it's all tears.
I have to protect it, like a reserve.
Without it, I will be empty,
and anyone can see
anger, despair & malice, probably.
I don't really know, didn't really care.
But it won't be pretty.
Nothing really is.