It feels like I don't belong here.
But of course, that's due to the romanticism of Life
Placed in a displaced girl,
Surrounded on all sides by emptiness,
Save for a few souls,
Glimmering with pristine pools of hope.
But regardless of my reasons or excuses,
I feel like I belong in here.
I've convinced myself that if I just get far away,
My life will work itself out.
Am I being foolish?
I don't think so.
You see,
People around me feel too young for my mental pallet.
They refuse to accept the chaos
That plays too big of a role in my play
To simply cut out for the sake of who knows what.
They are Boredom, Boredom, Boredom.
And as I see it, boredom is our disease.
It is our generation's Great War.
It is what we won't be remembered for.
I mean, this isn't news to anyone.
Boredom is only a problem because our idea of the solution:
That we have to buy it away.
Money = happiness?
So they have said.
But don't take this with a grain of salt.
Just don't take it at all.
Money is a cult-wide curse
We have inflicted upon ourselves and dragged down humanity with.
It has the evil allure akin to Satan, for you old timers.
You will never buy conversation.
There will never be a price-tag on passion.
Never will you see a sincere lover with dollar-bills in their eyes.
But you know what you can by?
Coked out convos with a lustful hooker.
And apparently that's our M.O.:
Sacrifice sincerity and authenticity for convenience and speed.
We are racing towards death,
And we're about to pay for it,
But I guarantee,
You'll be short on cash.