I’ve lost everything and knew it’s the end of me
I feel cynical towards living, the entirety.
I’m through pleasing people
What a thing to do, so trivial.
Being reclusive is now what I’m good at
No, I don’t give any crap
I mean, why would I?
I’d be alone when I die.
What’s the point of being with someone?
I’ll be on my own when they’re done.
No, I’m not asking for your pity
I don’t need it, not really.
I’m just tired of hearing people’s excuses
Behind you, they just make faces
It’s a world full of phonies
Yes, a shameful reality.
But, this I tell you
I’m not like them, true
Call me insurgent, or whatever
I’ll end this thing here.