Flood damage, the mildew left there three grey hairs ago. Remnants of gambling off your home and putting children on the street. Verbal abuse. The simple things in life are the ones that don't rack up the credit card bills. Do I share an allergy with Marc Johnson? "Lucky me," at least it's good company. How long before I know I can't get home alone until I'm instructing my feet? Left foot go ahead of me, I say! I'm afraid that as I age my control will go away. It's not the taste. It's for the race. It's for the fun of the game. I'm going for a hat trick, but soon I'll be sick. I realistic, narcissistic, faux-artistic, bad statistic. Lucky me, I don't share the allergy. But still, rack up the credit card bills. It may not be my death, but I'll still rack up and what's the point in that? I might share the tendencies of Amy Winehouse (RIP), or frat guys from my college days, or people in my dorm I hated. I might share the tendencies of my great-grandfather, but I won't let that... that can't become me.
It's so weird that people need it just to feel it when a place gets weird. I don't care if they give bad looks for not dropping $50 on beer. It's not fair that it's expected for someone to be respected. Yeah, out of here. I'll pick the tab up but won't stumble when I'm leaving here.
credits
from Infested,
released September 30, 2022
Written by Rob Lanterman
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