Let's talk about oh being an adult,
it's a ******* scam, a real insult,
they audit your soul and **** your account,
and you learn the value of money is goods, cars, hotels, and a mound,
a hovel, a home, a place for the sound,
of your empty, pitiless, soul gone 'round,
and round dreaming of Christmas, as a child bound,
by the lights and the wrappings and agnostic
witness the fate you will take, taking the rate,
of your depression gone by oh those halcyon days I innately
cannot help but feel oh that I've missed something lately,
a parallel me or something deep beneath me,
it claws and it itches at the corners of my mind discreetly,
Digressing my transgressions up on my own altars, weepily,
not tearing not emoting, no, not nothing, as if the Upston
I was, was only a dreaming, faint long gone sound, echoing,
teetering, upon sand castles that a once proud being,
called John was making, that now fall, upon the waves of reality,
and oh my own lackings. Tide me back take me away,
oh the void is calling, if not childhood gain, then adulthood,
lost, oh if I cant own her anymore then I'll just be tossed,
Into the ocean, sinking, no need to swim, just flossed,
and cleaned out, to be recycled, next time, next life,
Maybe I'll learn,
Something.
Or maybe, just maybe, if you're listening closely,
I'm just simply.... Mumbling.
