Good things don't happen to those who wait,
Good things happen to those who stay up late,
And study their books,
Of predetermined fate,
I know good things don't happen to those who wait.
Waste the day,
Stay up late,
Live life in a nocturnal state,
And be that bird of prey
That hunts the mice of the day.
Stay looking like five lines of *******.
All white eyed and dry.
Look for lines, search for friends,
No more ink left in my pen.
Metaphors so vague, less vivid,
It's not hard to tell that I'm ******* timid.
Gaze from the window in your
Packed like sardines shack,
And shout to the city skyline,
The trains shout back.
Lie to yourself and 'live' under a light polluted sky,
If only for another night.
Give all you have to give,
Shiv who you have to shiv,
Just to get by.
In the end the sardine tin opens,
Right before we die,
Before we go stale and feel numb inside.
Everything is open but we're so shut out,
I'd rather die in the day,
Just like the mouse.