Skinny jeans on the bench press You burn the candle at both ends If anyone asks why, then they're not worth your time Why am I so out of breath Club sandwich pressed in north end Grittled shank on rye A gunshot at half time A duration of the mystic land that I give me Who was that man? A wooly picket line Intestinal red wine Now it's hard not to suspect Your lying tell is bated breath I inhale for suspense You triggered my mammalian sighing reflex So I take everything as a lesson Something I trained out of myself With mindless self-indulging confidence Indulge me in whatever quick release I could muster Social media, carbohydrates and cannabis, the world was my oyster And I was the knight by which they duck But now he's dead, he's gone I fucking start anew I'm a developmental beast, wrong version of myself Sixteen bathrooms Sixteen bedrooms Sixteen fridges 64-bit computers Fifteen of them Oh how nice it must be To feel so bored I just need to find someone to tell me I'm just tired