Are we growing too **** old
For more nonsense and rainbows
I write from my subconscious
A collective compulsion to be ironic
We are the architects of archetypal nonsense
Nobody suspected that
We'd be making so much sense
Wisdom always blesses
The hand that it touches
Right before it tears you to shreds
Somebody will pay for these errors
We are naming our own conditions
The diagnosis of dignity has lost all its character
Narcissistic swimmers drown in compulsive rivers
Waters of neglect hesitate to scream
We feel it all the time and I suspect
You know exactly what i mean