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Booger Storm
Walter Mitty and His Makeshift Orchestra
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Out of tune these days, the only truth I hear is slang
My ceiling is your ground, everythings turned around
So now god thinks it's me who doesn't actually exist.
I walked my better half to your door, left feeling worse than I had before, the sex was boring, my morning breath came out to say I'm jaded and I've lost my carpe diem.
Cause now everything feels so hollow, swordfight my drunken mouth til I fall face down in the furniture.
Never believe me, I'm just a dunce, I'm still twenty grand and sixty units from enlightenment.
O cellphone, laptop, O dirty dishes what have I become?
We're playing chicken with cancer, getting white lies for answers from the trash culture shoved in our face.
Now that the internets down we can do something else, turn our angst into products to sell somewhere.
I guess thats why we're here.
I shouldn't tell you this, this could get dangerous.
Now everything feels so hollow, sit in the shower now, drain the hot water and anxiety.
I've got this stale feeling, questioning everything, if its all kitschy what does that make me?
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