I have the most unsettling feeling trembling inside me
It is not so much an emotion, but some type of cruel paradox
That can most accurately be described like this:
I am silently full of din
Yet when I feel compelled to be productive, my body shuts down
Like a power plant, whose cords have been violently frayed
I am unstably happy despite my infamous droning sadness
Of which exists only when given permission
But such authority has no name
I want to die with such life
And live as if I am dead
Which is nonsense nonetheless
Nurtured by my inconsistent head