not just e-tarded, i'm getting pretty retarded, addicted to density
i borrowed your pen. it's sitting beside me, askew on the desk. cap on and i'm without a cap or gown because of you. i'll leave it askew, it's easier for the now. later i'll run harder, breath deeper and stay up late. things are clashing, things are settling. i loved the emotion granted by working it out; i pray i wont break this just to try and feel that again. isn't dull happiness that much better? i'm happy. but now i want to be happier. this isn't going to stop anytime soon is my preminition. it seems like i'll falter in my attempt and fall to climb again, my inner me is begging to be smacked. the stupid shit knows what it wants and sets me up to deliver it. my inner me is psychotic, it doesn't care for me, about me. now to right a song. you'll hear it on the radio but the words will be different, you'll hear it and never understand what it means. we write because we're so clever, we want everyone to hear how clever we are, we let them listen to our music assuming they understand what it is, but they like it for the beat and we like our songs for the beat and we don't want to know what the words really mean. we're so clever.