We dream in black and white,
And cannot touch those things
Things that make us feel and weep
And things that make destruction seem constructive.
I’m tired and my words are jumbled,
Speech is mumbled and if it weren’t,
It wouldn’t mean a thing anyway.
So patronise me, tell me everything’s just fine (it never was)
Reassurance in the reality of escaping reality.
I don’t care, and if I did, I still wouldn’t.
Paranoid and self assured,
Ah.. Indecision, anxiety’s bastard child
Tomorrow’s fearmongers afraid today
Afraid of today, and what tomorrow might involve..
most of you fuckers are too damned pretentious for me anyhow. Fuck your ideals. I’ll make it, somehow.
Disintegrate, over compensate, barely saved and over played,
I’m tired of trying, I’m tired of lying
And I’ll make it