I'm high right now, not to a completely stupid degree but still, pretty high.
Our history's a vacant lot littered with empty bank accounts
Sobbing parents, broken bones
Glorious songs, lengthy prison terms
A handful of moments that were truly our own
In between desperate gasping for air worth breathing and times worth living
And I'm listening to The Volatile Utopian Real Estate Market by Pat the bunny Schneeweis (you could find it on here on archive.org if you wanted) on repeat-all and crying.
But in the mean time; come on
Let's go for a ride like we used to
Pistols drawn, screaming "liberty or death,"
Although I think we wanted both somehow
There is so much truth in these songs. Not like, in the sense of an encyclopedia entry that may contain facts about something that happened, or a scientific paper that describes how something really physically is... but in the sense of THIS IS HOW SHIT FEELS. This is how we screw up, these are the ways we inappropriately compromise, or inappropriately FAIL to compromise, and this is how shitty it makes us feel.
Someday when I'm a better man than this
I won't be able to give you a ride to work
Because I sold the car to print consent zines
For every high school kid in the country
And I love you. All of you, every human, and every other thing-that-is-aware. Consciousness is a curse sometimes, but it is such a beautiful one. Even when it hurts, it is so beautiful to behold. I still hate experiencing it, but for some reason, as I cry, I don't want to die as much as usual.
This morning I can't tell if I'm anarchist, or religious
Or if there's even a difference
If I'm waiting for the right time to act
Well, guess there probably isn't
There's a darkness in my bones
It reaches all the way down to the mud
There's a spark that's in your eyes
It catches flame, and it burns all through my blood