I sink like a brick at the first sign of trouble,

whether or not I’d like to admit it,

I tried to get out this,

but couldn’t quite fit the thing into

my schedule.

 

I’m stuck here, Childish, living like Gambino,

We’re fucked, but we smile anyway,

because why shouldn’t we?

We’re alone together here, wondering where our next meal is coming from.

Maybe it’ll never get here, maybe it will but first we’re all going to die.

The universe is big and we’re so the opposite,

so I wonder why I think I matter, even though everyone else does,

at least according to me they do,

despite what I said about me two lines ago,

I hope for the best for everyone else,

even if I can’t think the same of myself.

 

Pretty self explanatory, I’m a wreck, cars piling up inside my chest,

and I can’t wait to get inside the ambulance.

The hospital is where you go when no one will have you,

and I’m starting to think I should get over there,

but without the money I can’t get into it,

and even if I wanted to the doctor would’ve rejected this

sentiment I have about who or what he is,

and I have a hard time believing anyone would

visit my sorry ass while the world burns,

while it spins and rotates and dies in front of us.

 

Life is a frontage road to something else,

but we’re in traffic and can’t seem to get out of

what we thought was the end of the line here.

I need you to know that I’ll stick by you

until the universe collapses in on itself

and the waves take out the cities and the people,

and when we die, I’ll hold your hand,

because after all of this,

I feel you’re the one thing

I could possibly understand.