i’m about ten steps too far down this fucked up road,
and i feel like i do a hell of a job keepin’ that under wraps.
“and what the hell would it be like to forget?”
ever been on a drinkin’ binge?
you ever been hung over so much it starts to feel routine?
you ever get your life more in shape loving the bottle every night,
than you ever do sober?
it don’t help, just shuts off the dreams.
and i’m god damn tired of whining to myself
tired of playing the fucking victim.
lie in bed half the day because it’s easier than waking up.
i want out so bad i’m looking for fantasies in tupperware,
considering crawling up the kitchen sink, just to see how far the waterlines really go.
get, get, get behind a wheel
–it’s not as simple as that.
don’t have the cash,
don’t have the balls,
get the camping gear together
–i, i can’t
that idea is thoreau worship bullshit,
and we both know it;
i’m a privilaged white-boy.
“what would it be like to forget?”
that ain’t a bridge i’ve crashed yet.
