Ah, the sweet sound of ignorance.
Perhaps it’s the pain in my stomach that has me in such a mood, or maybe it's a lack of sleep.
I’d rather believe it is more along the lines of a lack of tolerance for the idiocy of my youth.
My generation seems to think the only thing that matters is knowing who’s screwing who and why and when.
No one seems to care about the world we live in,
But I’m just a poet, so I’ll pick up my pen and write about how I’m feeling and what I’m currently dreaming, and all the horrid things I’m thinking.
This pain in my gut is driving me nuts and my temper has an easy trigger.
My fingers itch to fire that shot and my eyes are filled with tears,
This is not okay.
This is not okay.
This is to my mother, I tell her that I love her as I lie to her face of my own innocence.
Am I making any sense to you?
Probably not, but that's okay.
My mother always told me to be a young lady and my arms are filled with scars,
So I’ll cover them in lace and pretend they aren’t there.
This story may have you worried, but it’s just my train of thought,
Letting it flow as my pen dances and, I will try again to make this sound like what it is.
So roses are red, and violets are blue,
I truly hope I haven’t been confusing you.
It’s so sad to see this catastrophe.
I guess this is the end, and you’ll just watch the credits go by, just so you can hear that one song, or find that one actor.
Cause no one sees the bigger picture.
