Momma caught me fighting with my shadow.
Father hit a herald times four.
I’ve learned the birds and bees.
So stay away from me.
I’ll be sleeping in the hardwood floor.
A sentinel warns us of the sky.
Time and time again,
I recover from misanthropy.
Yet you wonder of the reason why.
Think we’re going down, down, down.
I feel guided by myself.
All my friends on liquor street,
want a piece of granite,
to firmly press underneath their gums.
I told a tale to understand,
the meaning of the planet.
The chemical trails greeted me,
With their guns.
And I’m sick of all the complications,
that you can’t seem to stop offering me.
Everyone is rather bored of this situation.
I can’t stop what is being offered to me,
I feel guided by myself.
