Look, man, I’m sitting on a backlog of bad debt, staring at a pad wet with sweat, trying to get in gear. It’s been a severe, single year of pure isolation, staring at the floor till I completely disappear. My lady says I’m distant, I’m failing to be present, dealing with a resentment that’s running through my veins. If you could see the real me, the guilty and the filthy side, you’d shed a tear for how I’m handling the strains. I know I’m a slow grower, a broke phone user, a smoke-cone loser who is hoping that his folks don't see The total wreckage of my twenties, running out of pennies, funny how the envy turns to misery at thirty-three. I used to think that I could hone myself different, completely self-sufficient, acting like a ghost in the dark. Sitting quiet in the corner watching all my foes thrive, barely even half-alive, looking for a starting point. Then I gotta go toe-to-toe with my own family, juggling the sanity, struggling to pay the rent. I memorize the pattern of the panic when it hits me, wishing you were with me for the money that I spent. You tell me "don't you fear," but everything is broken, heavy words unspoken, choking on my own spit. I’m stuck inside a cycle where the days are getting shorter, swimming in the water of a bottomless pit. This is song song goes on on and on and on forever and ever it will never stop go back to the top. Because in this life, I got a dark soul, I know it, a stark hole and I show it through the ways that I act. And just when you’re thinking you know me the best, I get stressed in the chest, put my patience to the test, it’s a matter of fact. I go ghost on the grid like I most always did, a reclusive old kid who is skipping the town. I toast to the past while I’m pouring a glass of a liquor so fast that it’s pulling me down. I host other routes to the same destination, no explanation, pure resignation is taking a hold. We all want out of this place, feel the weight of the race, and the bitter disgrace of just growing old. My designation is quiet, a riotous diet of cheap fast food and a terrible mood every night. I am not evil or vicious, but people get suspicious when my habits are pernicious and I’m losing the fight. You think that the weed is a tool for a fool to escape, but it’s altering the shape of the things that I see. I start to hallucinate, watch as I lose a mate, every single day to the sickness in me. It’s an alienating feeling, staring at the ceiling, dealing with the healing that I’ll never achieve. I alienate all my friends in the end, I don’t even pretend that I’m ready to leave. This is song song goes on on and on and on forever and ever it will never stop go back to the top. I’m a critical case of a clinical waste of a citizen sitting and slipping away With a pessimist pace in a desolate space, I am checking the deck and I’m ready to play Every card that I got, whether ready or not, in a kitchen that's hot, with a click of a lock I am fixing the clock while I’m ticking and tripping, the liquor I'm sipping is hitting the spot I am breaking the fabric, a dangerous habit, a manic depressive who's grabbing a hold Of a terrible thought that was carefully bought from a peddler selling his soul to be sold And it’s never enough when the weather is rough and you’re wearing a cuff on your wrist from the stress I am confessing my sins to the corners and bins of a bedroom that looks like a permanent mess. But let me stop for a second, I reckon I need to just take a deep breath and look straight in the mirror. I’m thirty-something years old, and the stories I've told haven't made any single thing clearer. My friends don't even call me no more, they're afraid of the person I've slowly become. I shut out the world out of fear, spent a miserable year just completely benumbed and unstrung. This isn't a phase or a joke, it’s a trap that I built with my own two hands while I slept. I look at the bills on the counter, the weight of the mountain, the promises that I never kept. I’m sorry I alienated the people who loved me the most when I needed them bad. I’m just an adult who is struggling to process the grief and the anger I inherited from my dad. So I go back to the loop. The same old routine. Wash it down with a beer. Turn off the TV, lock up the front door, and wait for the panic to disappear. This is song song goes on on and on and on forever and ever it will never stop go back to the top.
