the love of the idea of love.
Cynical eyes twitch uncomfortably at the
lyrics recited with absent syntax and
misused words. Forget their intent, mock delivery
internal with snide delusions of being better. Mask unknowns, those arrows, with clever variables in fashionable fonts that strip all meaning from that which is already meaningless. Pretense, pretentious, portentous, porous, pouring out our lives when we haven't really lived them, making nothing into nothing to convey that by our sheer emptiness we are somehow something. Egoistic principles flatter themselves in their uselessness of asking for nothing, simultaneously expecting everything. Reams of forgotten experiences nurture false images of past lives in their intentional lack of existence, conveniently discarded for the airlineticket supportgroupjunkie whose been prescribed anti-depressants but doesn't like to take them.
sell yourself short for 30 milligrams of aderrol and a promise that you will forget who you were by being caught up in who you weren't, elevated blood pressure that in it's magnitude brings you closer to death in the hopes of making you feel more alive. shun reason for convenience and that image of being "caught up in the moment" when the moment is an idea and by being caught you mean you've boxed yourself in with your contrived metaphors and self delusions.
The proximity of everything is making me uncomfortable.
lyrics recited with absent syntax and
misused words. Forget their intent, mock delivery
internal with snide delusions of being better. Mask unknowns, those arrows, with clever variables in fashionable fonts that strip all meaning from that which is already meaningless. Pretense, pretentious, portentous, porous, pouring out our lives when we haven't really lived them, making nothing into nothing to convey that by our sheer emptiness we are somehow something. Egoistic principles flatter themselves in their uselessness of asking for nothing, simultaneously expecting everything. Reams of forgotten experiences nurture false images of past lives in their intentional lack of existence, conveniently discarded for the airlineticket supportgroupjunkie whose been prescribed anti-depressants but doesn't like to take them.
sell yourself short for 30 milligrams of aderrol and a promise that you will forget who you were by being caught up in who you weren't, elevated blood pressure that in it's magnitude brings you closer to death in the hopes of making you feel more alive. shun reason for convenience and that image of being "caught up in the moment" when the moment is an idea and by being caught you mean you've boxed yourself in with your contrived metaphors and self delusions.
The proximity of everything is making me uncomfortable.