Worried
Is there a limit to trust or do we all walk blinded?
When the grounds end,
will we stop or will we keep running?
I guess were good at believing,
with hands on our eyes,
hands on our ears
and guns in our mouth
a blade in the skull
and a good job at the fucking mall
I've been worried
and don't really know
why we still wave through the shit
staring at the skies
we hate what we do,
we hate where we go,
but still have to smile with a scarf hiding the rope
I like walking alone
parrots ain't no good company
can't you shut up and take your hand off my shoulder?
I'll cut off this arm, though it takes me forever
I've been worried
but don't really know
why keep running
and where we go