Friday Letra

And jot down silly little words and phrases
Make faces at a reflected past and break vases wearing a phony arm cast

Believe my miserable little lies, because I’m honestly starting to myself
The shelf life of a quiet kid, who died twice trying to remove his heart
It looks fun like the television, with pretentious infections and eye liner
But nothing’s as far from absolute zero than your fake drums and real problems
Another album down the drain, another wasted weekend
And I’m just another blank face in the crowd
I spend my Fridays bitching about myself
While the weekdays are a day job where I pretend to act proud about my life
It’s cycling itself away with fast food, chemicals, and loneliness
I kiss the lips of the encoded static and shake hands with a hologram just to taste your success

The year of the computer complex
I’m lost in the mouth of a smiling clown
Drowning in warm flat soda pop, or drifting away in a sugarless coma
It was just a joke but no one is laughing
Now you’re the enemy behind lines and under lungs
No breath released, the air is saturated
Further anticipating the subtle movement of a tongue
Off the record, and just between us
I haven't been this happy in milliseconds
The daily space of whispered noise is for me and all my empty carbonated friends
Bulletin boy with something to write about
Public policies are what mostly persuade me
A derelict with an agnostic outlook, monitoring plane collisions and laughing with the victims
Material girls rule this world now with expensive dresses and a fast lane lifestyle
There is no man behind the television
And no magic behind technology
So ready your rifles, the new humans are here with new concepts and old clothing
I stuff most of my speech into little notebooks
And my headphones are leaking a half day closing