I’m forced to wake up, when I’m not even sleeping.
Going to bed when I’m not even dreaming.
I’m just a good for nothing waste of space,

Contributing to less than anything.
Deadbeat, a fucking disease.

Everyone is a burden.
Weighing down on the people who love them.
Broke and distraught with no money to eat.

And on the subject of love,
I’ve learned to never get my hopes up,
Because it always ends in disappointment.
I can’t make myself happy.
How could I do the same for you?
Put you through this hell.
The pressure of my fingers pressing on sealed eyes,
Can only fix so much.

Rip my heart out, bury it deep.
Spit on the ground where it's resting beneath.
And as I drive these tree lined streets,
I can’t help but sink into my seat.

And as I write these words wondering if they’re heard,
I realize they’re the only thing I’m proud of.
The only thing at all.

Waiting by the phone when I’m talking all alone.
I don’t belong on the ground that I walk on.
I don’t deserve the air that I breathe.
I’ve become lower than low can be.
But I won’t go, you’d be all alone.

Curable disease.
I don’t belong on the ground that I walk on,
I don't deserve the air that I breathe.
Curable disease.


from Lower Than Low Can Be, released February 20, 2016



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