Being bored is a sin to me . . These "faults" seem deplored by contingencies
I thought it was a cologne; but, hell I think Allure is the industry
Birds of prey learn to sway, and we've left the vultures infatuated
Let us rejoice with a Western hymn: "Cheers! Our culture is saturated!"
Obsession with the "phattest clothes," whilst oppression will combat with blows
A simple smile's frowned upon 'cause it seems depression is the status quo
Am I alone in my quest? My quest to deface and clean the tears. .
Am I the only one who has occupants in the space between my ears?
The tumor's the source - meanwhile, our own consumers are coarse
Why laugh at witless jokes when we know that the humour is forced?
Are there solutions? Can we salvage years of embracing the dead?
Can we claim what's rightfully ours and take back the space in our head?
I don't know the answers . . Unfortunately, I can't seem to slow advancers
Minds to waste behind in haste - Our bodies teem with boneless cancer
This isn't a cry for attention . . I label it a "concernful dispute."
But that's the problem - fuck a label; Let us return to our roots!

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