The thrill isn’t thrilling.
I’m not feeling a buzz.
I’m sick of you trying to rip me off.
I hate the shit that surrounds you – the people aren’t real.
I can tell you’ve been cut, and you won’t ever heal.
Your murderers should be shot.
I hate what people will do for you.
They’ll do it for me, but because of you too.
I like monkey shadows, and the noise in my ear,
the pole dancing pig with her laugh that I hear…
Down deep in my heart, the truth I do know,