(no subject)
I was listening to 9-5ers Anthem and I realized what my life has become.
Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen
Pour myself a cup of ambition and
Yawn and stretch and my life is a mess and
If I never make it home today, God bless
Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen
Pour myself a cup of ambition and
Yawn and stretch and my life is a mess and
If I never make it home today, God bless
I feel like that..... I'd like to say sometimes, but I feel like that all the time. It's a rarity not to. Home simply means to me the place where my life is. So, if I never make it home today, that doesn't mean I would die, but it means I wouldn't go back to my life. It means that to anyone who's reading this, I would be dead. But maybe home is where you've belonged your whole life.... Like the first time a photographer ever took a picture or the first time a surfer ever felt the power of a wave.
Where's my home? I have no home. I am caught in a strange sort of Limbo, where all I can ever be is normal, which doesn't mean shit. If normality is all you can strive for then why strive at all?
We the American working population
Hate the fact that eight hours a day
Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn't us
And we may not hate our jobs
But we hate jobs in general
That don't have to do with fighting our own causes
We the American working population
Hate the nine to five day-in day-out
But we'd rather be supporting ourselves
By being paid to perfect the pasttimes
That we have harbored based solely on the fact
That it makes us smile if it sounds dope
this is the year of the travis.
nothing magnificent, nothing wonderous, no failure and no succession.
programmed day plans with ray bans to avoid progression
taken this perfection to the point of obsession
now i understand the sincerity of your impressions
Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen
Pour myself a cup of ambition and
Yawn and stretch and my life is a mess and
If I never make it home today, God bless
Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen
Pour myself a cup of ambition and
Yawn and stretch and my life is a mess and
If I never make it home today, God bless
I feel like that..... I'd like to say sometimes, but I feel like that all the time. It's a rarity not to. Home simply means to me the place where my life is. So, if I never make it home today, that doesn't mean I would die, but it means I wouldn't go back to my life. It means that to anyone who's reading this, I would be dead. But maybe home is where you've belonged your whole life.... Like the first time a photographer ever took a picture or the first time a surfer ever felt the power of a wave.
Where's my home? I have no home. I am caught in a strange sort of Limbo, where all I can ever be is normal, which doesn't mean shit. If normality is all you can strive for then why strive at all?
We the American working population
Hate the fact that eight hours a day
Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn't us
And we may not hate our jobs
But we hate jobs in general
That don't have to do with fighting our own causes
We the American working population
Hate the nine to five day-in day-out
But we'd rather be supporting ourselves
By being paid to perfect the pasttimes
That we have harbored based solely on the fact
That it makes us smile if it sounds dope
this is the year of the travis.
nothing magnificent, nothing wonderous, no failure and no succession.
programmed day plans with ray bans to avoid progression
taken this perfection to the point of obsession
now i understand the sincerity of your impressions