After a while, the boogeyman disappears
Leans over and whispers crookedly in your ear
I’ll be back in a couple of years
An amalgamation of all your financial fears
It’ll make you realize that even though you don’t check under the bed
You’ll still feel the urge to put a bullet in your head
Well isn’t that a kick, ruminate like Dean Martin
Peering over the edge, finally starting
To realize the benefit of being passionate
Went from stashing dreams to stashing shit
When the brownies finally dissolve, you begin to believe
Sometimes, all we need is the drugs in the sleeve
Or to grin without teeth, emotion without the meat
Label it revenge, call it karma, what have you
But before you lay down judgement understand what I’d do
To repent, to bring an end to the shame
Maybe that’s my motive behind playing these games
Or maybe it’s because to me they’re mental foreplay
Pixelated stimulation of the day
Blurring the lines, it’s the creative incarnation of the color gray
Rhymed gray with day, I couldn’t pass K-12 another way
So I’m here to stay, atop a cacophonous suburban symphony
Symphony pronounced “ay”, but only to fit my rhyme scheme, okay?
Without further delay, examining social interaction
It’s funny how we feel the compulsion to split into factions
Or the urge to scrutinize where the innocence went
Call it introspective ignorance, or hyper-self-conscious bliss
But I don’t have a magnanimous sense of when to spit
No internal alarm telling me the path is writ
I guess it isn’t, is it?
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