I woke up to regret and, silver-spoon-fed
Acknowledged existence, remained insistent
On self-flagellation, on syllable placement
On determination, on education
How to eat and sleep, and not to choke
On the vomit my reflexive thoughts evoke
The white noise in between the erosion of our dreams
Plotting destruction of reasonable options
Of fixed employment, of all enjoyment
So much time spent on pure resentment
The only air to breathe is recycled heat
From our wasted words, the crippling comedy
I can see the end drop from the sky like it's a bomb
And I can't hear the difference between our nervous tics
And a semi-automatic gun
Subjectivity
Is all the rage in the first world countries
All the top percents
Abide by sacred documents
And I'll sing till I can't talk
But I'll still toe the line between explained and lost
What listless liberty
So I sing happy fucking birthday to me