Trust me, we all know how shiny we are,
Heavy, ripened fruit you can smell from afar,
Mysteries and labyrinths, “Oh god, what happened next?”
Trust me, there are days that we want to wring your necks.
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Trust me, we’ve all been harnessed to machines,
Pressed and cut until our heartache spills from broken seams,
Do you know what it’s like to hide a cry of hope and dread,
In a video you know that predators will see instead?
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So stick to your own story,
Tell your story from your heart,
Because all of us have had enough of being torn apart.
I’m not your muse or tourniquet; I’m just a fucked-up kid.
The rest of you will never understand the damage that they did.
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Children have no power over things their parents do,
Create a decayed universe where nothing good is true.
This is a culture all its own, and while you may admire,
I’d appreciate if you’d refrain from building your own pyre.
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So spill your guts and sing your songs; let’s fill this world with meaning,
But some sell offal by the bucket, and that’s what has me screaming.
We’re not looking for an echo, dear; we’re asking you to listen,
And walk away if all this horror turns your mind into a prison.