i always come in first;
there is nothing to look forward to, but i do
we can look at the facts and it comes down to this
you choose not to hear me, instead you opt
to type away your life on a form.
(they won't read it, you know they won't, why do you care?)
do you think a prestigious (pretentious) panic room,
is the key to what you want to be?
you will think of me when you can't breathe
it will come down on you hard, fast, disgustingly stuffy
living your life following a routine
and the security is the cause of it.

you chose not to press the button, you
are the one who thought of this basement as the answer.

i come in first and it isn't for you;
the chair with wheels is moved to my desk and
it is only natural to make myself puke.
you will think of me when you realize i found fun
in absolutely nothing.
draw up your sick parabola,
you will find joy in the same quantity.