Woorden: Napalm Death. Fear Emptiness Despair. Throwaway.

I've slipped the noose, the shackles are off.
My maturity fixation outshines.
It's go for broke and fuck it all, with head held higher (than thou)
I am the man that used to care.
Who was I then?
So quizzical with foresight.
Now I've favored to savor the flavor of nine - to - five intuition.
Out with the old, in with the new regime.
I sold my soul to the rebotised dream.

I'm just an empty shell with integrity scooped out. =
A painted smile, a glass - eye high on two that can't cry.
Touch me, I'm cold to the merits of (real) love.
I stepped back from the edge when other slipped off.
And all because society told me to.