Call it a catch-22, cause I've caught catharsis, and my conch shell has run out of clues
I've been eating away the cost of everything I pick and choose
Why is the coast so blurry, every time I'm taking my midday cruise
Trying to metabolize my surroundings, but all the people around me are just empty calories, even the closest few

They're all cheap, cheeky, circuited *****
That's why I've trained myself to be calloused, bruised, collected, and blunt
But you cannot make yourself all that you want to become
You can only intend, to spend, your chronic currency to coherence
I burn my pockets so I don't have to carry your candle
I'd rather be illuminescently bent, then hiding my head beneath a tent
With your boyscout projects, and afro-engineered beligerence
But I will be your calm cashier, I will take your money if you need to conquer your fears
And I do concur, slur your slew of words, I know you're just holding back the real tears
Beneath that cartoon cardigan and cyan crew
You're the carpenter, you didn't have to just paint every part of your body in denial and blue

I know you are the way you are, you don't choose
Somewhere deep in my cynical carcass I know you don't have to choose
Sometimes it's not what you choose
But sometimes it's who

Look deep in the culture of narcissism
You cocky carpenter, you have more purpose then simple cytogeny
Cut into your carcass and pull out something new