1. |
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Everyone hopes they’ll become something
So I study, absorb, emulate the ones I see
In time those models, the ones I want to be
Give up their dreams in the face of apathy
And I close that door, forget what I want
Then those bitter peers become my confidants
But the irony of self-sympathy
Is that it earned us all our enviable infamy
Gloomy, woozy, dirty
Don’t live to see thirty
Artful, self-hurting poetry, somehow I
Thought that decade spent
Would make something transcendent
Close that chapter of my young, bold intent, and now I’ll
Vacate what I labored for
Placate those who don’t matter anymore
Growing old and giving up
Define me by something that I can’t be, though I tried
Did my legacy or credibility end at twenty-five, but I didn’t die
And just like everything my story becomes about me
Does that self-awareness take away any of the sting
Of hearing where I’m coming from
As if I was the only one
To lose and then create, reinvent and make some more mistakes
Barely miss the grave then expect my own parade
I’ll play along and gladly sing
I’ve seen the world and it’s not me
I’ll project glowing qualities but
Cut with knowing honesty
Giving in and growing up
And at some point burning bridges soaked in booze
Stopped being a viable career move
Will I have a chance to beautifully burn out
Or will I still somehow make my parents proud
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2. |
Somerset (Unplugged)
04:13
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And when I finally get to sleep, I sweat
The Librium's taken effect
And when they pull out the IV, I bleed
The counselors ask me what I need, I say
I guess that I was born this way
Then comes the shame and the regret
How many days did I forget?
Dreams of my friends walking away
Alone, unsure, what can I say?
I guess that I was born this way
Excuse to use, I choose to pay
Hell if I could tell you why
I drink or what it means
So I’ll lie and almost die
And write my masterpiece
Hurt and hate, destroy, create
Realize that I’m wrong
Learn to live, but far too late
At least I’ll have a song
And when I finally earn some trust
Some trust I know I will betray
I guess that I was born this way
There is no sign, no key to me
So what’s the point in trying?
I will work on my masterpiece
So why is my mother crying?
I hurt, I hate, I destroy, I create
And I don’t see the problem
Of course I do, but far too late...
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High Fructose Cat Syrup Flemington, New Jersey
He really likes cats.
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