Somehow all the right trees are uprooted at the wrong time
We all feel the ground beneath us shaking
Wonder if we have things that need disconnecting, too
But the ways we learn begin to be so painstaking
How could anything of value grow in this place?
Search for something solid,
what’s real all fades away.
There’s no high left to chase
We run and hide, we run and hide,
but nothing seems to change.
The warning signs all wail
Desperate not to become a waif
Desperate not to become a waste
Desperate is all we’ve come to stay
Desperation coming in droves makes it hard to create.
We’ve reached rock bottom so things can only get better – or more obscure –
of that, we’ll make damn sure
Circling back, surfers find the shore
Circling back, search for nothing more
Circling back, desperate for a cure
Circling back, this window I’ve climbed through is nothing but a detour.
So what’s the allure? What’s the allure?
We’re all out here looking for something we cannot escape,
What I thought was a garden was just a nest full of snakes.
The Deadbeat: Series of Nihilistic Ramblings 