Is this really the life we must force ourselves to live everyday
this blue collared white collared no collar state of affairs
where we strangle ourselves daily with the grind of odd jobs poor paychecks an broken homes
scattered like insects catching fire under the magnified heat of the sun
our fingers ******* and our minds fall in line to what they tell us
like obedient children we don't raise our hands to ask why
no we just bite our tongues and call this a living
Waiting for our death to come and liberate ourselves from this drudgery
this mundane system of complications we've entangled ourselves into
feeling like vines growing on the side of a nuclear bomb waitin to drop off the edge of this planet
cascading into the imagination of nothingness we know we feel deep inside
but we've buried it in a rush and sometimes you can hear it grumbling
crying out to be set free
this imagination has got us into trouble before
thinking we can change the system we've built with our own hands and words we've cut from rapists murders and molesters
Kings queens and holy saints
we see what we are but do little in time to repair the perceptions we've become
only tightening our nooses everyday like corporate wear neckties begging for a little more breath
and a little more time so we can amass the collection the tv tells us we need
so we wash out our morals And give in to the notion of supply and demand
but never actually demanding the change so many of us crave and need
we pull splinters from our teeth and sell them as souvenirs
hoping someone else will choke on them and loosen these ropes
binding ourselves to the hanging effect of effigies burning brilliantly in midnight shades of *** bottomed out with whiskey hangovers
so far it's got to be the only way out of this but the exit we always miss
when we're traveling two hundred ten miles forward without the gift of sight or intellect
on baking asphalt looking for a wall to end it all
looking for someone to call to end it all...
But I've packed my bags and I'm hitchhiking the rest of the way
keeping my thumb inside my jacket because it's better to walk alone
than get picked up by a car heading for the fall
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:00 AM UTC
Is this really the life we must force ourselves to live everyday
this blue collared white collared no collar state of affairs
where we strangle ourselves daily with the grind of odd jobs poor paychecks an broken homes
scattered like insects catching fire under the magnified heat of the sun
our fingers ******* and our minds fall in line to what they tell us
like obedient children we don't raise our hands to ask why
no we just bite our tongues and call this a living
Waiting for our death to come and liberate ourselves from this drudgery
this mundane system of complications we've entangled ourselves into
feeling like vines growing on the side of a nuclear bomb waitin to drop off the edge of this planet
cascading into the imagination of nothingness we know we feel deep inside
but we've buried it in a rush and sometimes you can hear it grumbling
crying out to be set free
this imagination has got us into trouble before
thinking we can change the system we've built with our own hands and words we've cut from rapists murders and molesters
Kings queens and holy saints
we see what we are but do little in time to repair the perceptions we've become
only tightening our nooses everyday like corporate wear neckties begging for a little more breath
and a little more time so we can amass the collection the tv tells us we need
so we wash out our morals And give in to the notion of supply and demand
but never actually demanding the change so many of us crave and need
we pull splinters from our teeth and sell them as souvenirs
hoping someone else will choke on them and loosen these ropes
binding ourselves to the hanging effect of effigies burning brilliantly in midnight shades of *** bottomed out with whiskey hangovers
so far it's got to be the only way out of this but the exit we always miss
when we're traveling two hundred ten miles forward without the gift of sight or intellect
on baking asphalt looking for a wall to end it all
looking for someone to call to end it all...
But I've packed my bags and I'm hitchhiking the rest of the way
keeping my thumb inside my jacket because it's better to walk alone
than get picked up by a car heading for the fall
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