This is Just One Splinter of a Sentence.
Where is your art?
I find myself growing angry with the dull pace of happenstance... of perchance and circumstance... The word smiths and the fashionistas keep writing about the same things and continue to adorn themselves in the same crude fashions that I just cannot grasp. I'm out of step and out of line with everything I try to fall into, and I fear that if I were to completely align with your footsteps that I would forget the path back to where... where I had been surviving on my own, I guess... And that's not to say that I am better off in this place where my whims are king, but you know... And I'm not really asking for anything, or telling anyone anything for that matter, but sometimes you have to address these feelings when they pry themselves free from inside and float to the surface.
How do you afford your faux-european lifestyle? How do you adopt the ideals of a vagrant? You say that you have been given the world and that it is yours to conquer. The world is a gift or something like that and you're just a soul in search of spiritual energy, sources of transcendence and total consciousness. You don't realize that someone is picking up your slack for you... picking up those pieces that you have left behind. You're a freeloader without a sense of doubt or regret and I'm just a chickenshit with a heightened sense of responsibility. Your contention is that you win, and I find no reason to argue with you.
I'm going to write a song that only my father will understand. He and I will record it together in the basement of our house. He won't ever read the lyric sheet or ask me why I wrote the song because the same song resides within him. One day, my son will ask me to help him record a song that he has written, and I think you know where the story goes from there...
I find myself growing angry with the dull pace of happenstance... of perchance and circumstance... The word smiths and the fashionistas keep writing about the same things and continue to adorn themselves in the same crude fashions that I just cannot grasp. I'm out of step and out of line with everything I try to fall into, and I fear that if I were to completely align with your footsteps that I would forget the path back to where... where I had been surviving on my own, I guess... And that's not to say that I am better off in this place where my whims are king, but you know... And I'm not really asking for anything, or telling anyone anything for that matter, but sometimes you have to address these feelings when they pry themselves free from inside and float to the surface.
How do you afford your faux-european lifestyle? How do you adopt the ideals of a vagrant? You say that you have been given the world and that it is yours to conquer. The world is a gift or something like that and you're just a soul in search of spiritual energy, sources of transcendence and total consciousness. You don't realize that someone is picking up your slack for you... picking up those pieces that you have left behind. You're a freeloader without a sense of doubt or regret and I'm just a chickenshit with a heightened sense of responsibility. Your contention is that you win, and I find no reason to argue with you.
I'm going to write a song that only my father will understand. He and I will record it together in the basement of our house. He won't ever read the lyric sheet or ask me why I wrote the song because the same song resides within him. One day, my son will ask me to help him record a song that he has written, and I think you know where the story goes from there...