That first guitar strum will make me happier then any boy who thinks they're a man, who degrades along with their cultures narrow minded commercialized relationships and make me nauseous belief that all those side effects in the fine printed undertones really do seem so lovely covered up with that prancing butterfly under the yellow sun and upbeat music from a dark elevator bringing us all to a low vibration of lies and brain washed foggy minds surrounded by clouds of smog and smoke and exhaust and tears bleed from my eyes as I wonder if this blood orange is really passed over by that hose of chemicals, and how much my brain has been washed into believing these green labels. Looking pretty, eating shit, trying to believe what I hear, trying not to believe what I hear, the amount of times saves the day has saved my day from you.
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