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Pressed for Stress
The unmitigated common sense
of master debating my minutiae
has me stuck in the funk you see
as you sidestep past the future,
Fake plastic ramblings
roar past the families
still scrounging for the pot to piss in
but settle for the atrophy,
Wrecked from the grindstone
and there's no excuse for getting old
but I'm weary from the discontent
of arguing with my own soul,
Wish I could see it coming
Wish I could make it stop
Still can't collect the courage
to let one ball drop,
So I juggle the job I hate
and impress the fakers
and watch all my idols talk
about the dream makers,
It's a tragedy
leading a life in decline
but the only option you have
is to live or sever the spine,
They say that age should feel like a fine wine
but really it's just decay
wrapped in a wrinkle of time
