Everyone is pretending to be in a state of oh-so-cool, constant abundance. But this place reflects a shallow materialism, a copycat version of something cheap. It’s the trade-off for pristine streets and the greenest green landscapes. They sell safety and status. But you can’t take an uninterrupted breath here. Petty ordinances, unchecked property taxes,
When you can’t feel, can’t love, can’t forgive. Can’t buy, can’t sleep, can’t get high or low. Can’t get near enough or far enough away from anyone. Can’t take care of yourself. Can’t fix it. You will change.
I’ve been swallowed by suburbia, it’s got nothing left to give. We sing the same old song. Walk that line. They want you to think you think too much. It’s funny and it’s ironic.
Just for today I will be unafraid.
Not because I know what’s ahead.
Not because I expect it to go my way.
But because fear is no way to live.
There’s a warden in your head—and he’s the past.
You hired him. You keep him on the payroll.
He’s an ever-present voice, dragging out every failure, highlighting where you missed the mark, and promising more of the same ahead.
I need something strong that I can build new hope upon. Ain’t it a lonely feeling, talking about my and me instead of we and free? So many voices shouting, so much noise. Hear the contradictions fly. Telling you to lose your individuality. Don’t spend a lot of time thinking about these things. We don’t
