Modern age is the time of mediocrity,
It's the age of mildly felt passions,
A time to have lukewarm identities
The time to open the tab with caution.

Spill your dreams one by one,
Computers have limited your capabilities,
All the songs you wrote have already been sung,
Listen to the tracks of your mind so you don't feel guilty.

Draw triangles with your pencil,
Your sketches will never build you a house,
Listening to your heart isn't essential,
Listen to a stethoscope, it'll tell you money's whereabouts.

So you mix some water colors and feign a red,
And maybe rub two bricks to light a spark,
Photo-edit the features to keep the eyes fed,
And run away to sleep early before you ricochet in the dark.

Everyday you are taught about treachery,
Leaving the places that have stolen your heart,
You should sit uptight with your lawfully wedded misery,
And drive off to a pale yellow sunset where the future starts.

So with only your shadow, your being is whole,
But at nine am you're only an uneven half,
You forget your lines every time the curtains fall,
Till the day that you resign, you're waiting for that draft.

Your walls are a sick shade of beige,
You always open the tab with caution,
Mediocrity is the modern age,
A time of mildly felt passions.