So this is it?
The new house with a picket fence
The perfect job and pretense
And a wife commenting on the contents of my daily drink
The constant nonsence empty conflict
So this is it?
The days in and out with doubt
Just following the typical golden route
Creating the memories with ephemoral calamities
And oh the train on plain rails that makes our veins
So this is it?
I am dead alive without split ends
Like my mind mends by following trends
This is fucking it, Im the misfit omited
The bland inspid contagion feeling rage again.
This is fucking it
