I used to feel, and even say, the reasons why the world did things. But now it’s pain and bloodthirsty fucks shooting to suppress my sus. I’ve got no aim, I care no less— if you are you, or an AI, lame at best. I think the charm has left the sitch. No one will give you any pity for all you do— it’s bleak and shitty. Haaaaa— and you crucify the innocent, but nothing compared to the rest of your list. The world, it aches, and so do I. No one to hear your alibi. They don’t like when you let me down. You could have saved—but nope, you drown the entire who-should-be, haven’t-found. And can’t you hear the growls of a billion million tombs? Your evolution slapping you in the face, the planet’s left to take the black pill— and she’s got your face. As I try and stomp out the flames, some damage will succumb. Your arrogance will surely numb. And we never won. And we never will. Not worth all we want— we’re bandits whose greed will weigh us down like the worst pirate in all the idiots’ catalog of “ohhh no.” Life— not another fucking show. I only hear how you’re so proud. Change won’t kill like dues. Stalling won’t do shit for you. Profit and heretic, your martyr— matter, mortar, more tar, my slaughter. Fools don’t stand up for— or get a soapbox. But with the internet, X is poison. XXX, and there’s the profit. Money talks, and none is bought it. Lost it. Got it. Cringe and fun and blood— for stop it. Even though you haunt my dreams, my aspirations, what I’ve gained: life, not another fucking show.
