sixtysevenhundred.

on some goth shit
meditating in the graveyard
tarring up my lungs while
i'm walking down the boulevard
sad little white boy
crying, thinks his life's hard
you don't know pain,
there's a genocide in Myanmar
people get their throats slit
believing in the "wrong" god
you had a girl make you high
and you fell hard
families are dying
and you want to be a rockstar
so why you taking drugs?
what you trying to get numb for?

i just want a life that
might be worth waking up for
share my music with my
friends and maybe do an encore
invite some people over, get
some liquor that forever pours
their lessons or their lesions,
ask them all about their open sores
sixtysevenhundred people
either shot or burned alive
you're dreaming of a good girl
that you could probably call a wife
this is how real loss looks
this is real strife
you drew a bath of henny
and you want to take a deep dive

on some goth shit
looking out through your red eyes
shades always on like
a blanket to hide behind
bleeding out, wounded
at the first try at real life
how does this shit balance,
do you think you deserve to cry?
praying for a goddess, "i
pray you'll come and cleanse me"
a nation full of people
down the barrel of a cleansing
Jekyll and I'm hiding in
and out of all my draining
should i even feel like this?
there's no way it's the same thing.