we write letters we won't ever send,
make money we won't ever spend.
what's the point of living this life
if everything stays bottled up inside?
making wishes on shooting stars
because we're so desperate for something to go right.
a tight grip on our lucky charms,
we venture into the darkness of night.
nobody ever warned us
just how ****** up life can be.
i guess they wanted us to figure out for ourselves
that we can't swim across the sea.

Even when my wonderful
universe seems like
a cosmic mess,

Even when
all these souls
leave us in the
form of death,

Even though I'm
underfed, underslept
and can't catch my breath,

I emit love
**and so who cares about all the rest?

All that is
lives
within what is not
Waiting to strike
when the irons are hot
Waiting to give
all that it has got
So you can be all you can be-
**or not