I feel like I should write a song,
But no one wants to hear it.
It’s long and convoluted, probably lacking spirit
And the melody’s all fucked.
It’s got no catchy breakdowns,
And the chorus is never the same twice.
It ain’t hummable. It sure ain’t nice.
I want to write a battle hymn,
But I’m goddamned tired of fighting.
I’m tired of arguing and lately;
I’m getting sick of writing.
No one’s listening see,
And I know how I feel.
I’d rather be stuck in an echo chamber than a hamster wheel …
Maybe I want to burn the whole fucking thing down.
Maybe I want to cover the world in bubble tape and kiss the babies.
Maybe I want a time machine, but hell, man. Times are rough.
We’re all tired. We’re all scratching itches we don’t want to talk about.
No one wants to hear that song. That story. It’s an old one. And it’s never been good.
I’ll just strum this C chord and pretend I’m understood.