With smoke against the night sky,
Somehow I am the bad guy.
I walk around so uptight,
But still, I have these "laugh lines,"
On my face.
I don't know a place
Where I don't have to tip toe like
There's land mines.
I remember playing Minesweeper
And sneezing all the **** time.
  All on my computer screen.
Allergic to the rules of things.
Allergic to reality.
I feel my family doubting me.
If sanguis est crassius quam aqua,
Then why do strangers lounge
With me,
And seem like they're so proud of me?
Well, actually in actuality,
That's just as false.
Guess I'm bound to see
The truth that's been
Surrounding me.