Lyrics: Max Knutson/Akkhiel Nambiar
Music: Max Knutson/Ben Woodard/Evan Sekiguchi/Evan Blad/Leah Tritabaugh
Snapping under entrance examinations my corporate servant down payment for the fanciest embalmers
At the finish line I’ll finally be a hobbyist ruling over fungi in my carbonated water
Busy with these antacid metaphors Bay Area Belphegor’s and Sunday funnies
I turn the other cheek to the bucket kicked from underneath me
Eat this
Not that
A cheaply made but foreign car
Taught to
Rebel politely
In polystyrene cushion walls
Pandora’s patterns
I wished they’d watch me bleed
If blood was what they saw me for
I’ve lost it once
I’ve boiled over
Just distance from the what I was
Cut your bangs saving face for fades
Wet my nostrils in center stage
Because I’m afraid to be alone this time when summer falls away
Panning out to elderly cliché
Actress one to actor two look him in his hurricane eyes and tell him that he’s so so different
A pair of deaf grins form way too quickly in red, blue green
Indifferent to the screams I scrawled in letters never written
They’re saying words but I’m losing what they mean
I’m just a product of my
Sum collected kindling burning up
In the crumbling of an empire
Scrambling to draw up the play by play
For every risk of statistic significance
Praying to the zeitgeist path of least resistance
I am a low ranking member of the alternative industrial complex
Because I am just a shell to live vicariously through
In daydreaming of how I’d gamble all the things I’ve earned in my life
I will convince myself that I’m irreparably unlike all of you
But all of us are equal horizontally
And all my friends are doing what they want
When I’m just doing what I think I have to
I can’t wait for the day
When I optimize my outward thoughts away