Something's wrong with the way they think.
Or maybe I'm the one that's wrong.
But I doubt it.
I'm not confused about it,
I understand where they're coming from.
Everyone wants to be number one.
The coolest. The baddest. The 'SoundCloud rapper who made it biggest'
They're all running the same race
Three, two, one, gun goes off
They all want to end up at the same place
But the room of success has a max occupancy,
It reached it a long time ago but they can't see
They wait in line at the finish
by the end; they diminish
until there's nothing left.
they never had enough talent
Talent only belongs to the lucky few
But one, two, three, the gun went off before they could plant their feet
They were too slow.
The club's closed now.
It was exclusive anyway, didn't they hear?
No, they were too busy shouting in ears
Bragging about their risk to dare or the clothes they wear or the new color in their hair.
They're hoping they'll stand out.
But everyone is shouting about
The same damn thing.
There's no originality
The same corrupt morality.
I guess consent is lame now.
I guess racist jokes are funny.
I suppose I'm old fashioned
Though I'm their same age
Their maturity must be locked in a cage
Somewhere.
It's just really hard to find.
Really, really hard, I guess.
In a place even they can't access.
