carbon copy

Cool is a cruel competition
Where there are no winners, only sinners
And debauchery is all I see around me
No center, no desire, restless mire
The only victors are those who lose
Because it’s the victory of the noose
Hang yourself on the tree of style
Reborn as just another face in the pile
self lost to what people think you are
and before you know it you’ve come so far
that you can’t get back
stranded, feel like I’m under attack
no way forward no where to go
chilling out, doing nothing in limbo
lost the race, now I love empty space
shoulda, woulda, coulda just stayed in place
displacement zero for the wannabe hero
lost potential, chance to be the next Nero
burned it all down to the ground
Empire of the cool, all falls down
Start over tomorrow, free of sorrow
Conscience cleaned clear of science
Just heart left, wisdom true
Alone in paradise with you