I woke up to regret and, silver-spoon-fed Acknowledged existence, remained insistent On self-flagellation, on syllable placement On determination, on education How to eat and sleep, and not to choke On the vomit my reflexive thoughts evoke The white noise in between the erosion of our dreams Plotting destruction of reasonable options Of fixed employment, of all enjoyment So much time spent on pure resentment The only air to breathe is recycled heat From our wasted words, the crippling comedy I can see the end drop from the sky like it's a bomb And I can't hear the difference between our nervous tics And a semi-automatic gun Subjectivity Is all the rage in the first world countries All the top percents Abide by sacred documents And I'll sing till I can't talk But I'll still toe the line between explained and lost What listless liberty So I sing happy fucking birthday to me