Skinny jeans on the bench press
You burn the candle at both ends
If anyone asks why
Then they're not worth your time
Why am I so out of breath?
Club sandwich pressed in north end
Grittled shank on rye
A gunshot at half time

Adoration of the mystic land
That idea of me, who was that man?
A wooly picket line
Intestinal red wine
Now it's hard not to suspect
Your lying tell is bated breath
I inhale for suspense
You triggered my mammalian sighing reflex

So I take everything as a lesson
Something I trained out of myself
With mindless self-indulging confidence
Indulging in whatever quick release I could muster
Social media, carbohydrates and cannabis
The world was my oyster
And I was the knife by which they'd shuck
But now he's dead, he's gone
I fucking start anew
I'm a developmental beast, wrong version of myself
Sixteen bathrooms
Sixteen bedrooms
Sixteen fridges
64-bit computers
Fifteen of them
Oh, how nice it must be
To feel so bored

I just need to find
Someone to tell me
I'm just tired