The things we own, end up owning us...
These things,
These material, monetarily valued items,
We prize them, they define us in a way we cannot ourselves
But do we need them?
We are the born and raised fodder of todays neurotic social handguns.
Archetypes and Patriotism
Youre not your job...
...youre not the car you own
Your not the contents of your wallet...
...youre not your bank account
You are not a precious or unique snowflake...
...youre not your ******** khakis
We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world
we are all the same organic waste matter
All apart of the same compost heap
Raised to belive we had a purpose, or some higher goal
We thought we'd end up rockstars or actors
But were not, we will work s**t jobs for the rest of our life
And as we find this out, we ignore it in favor
Of a falsely nutured hope
In the world I see -- you're stalking
elk through the damp canyon forests
around the ruins of Rockefeller
Center. You will wear leather
clothes that last you the rest of
your life. You will climb the wrist-
thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears
Tower. You will see tiny figures
pounding corn and laying-strips of
venison on the empty car pool lane of
the ruins of a superhighway.
It is only once we have lost everything, That we are free to do anything
Rock, solid bottom,
With a bullet forced between the eyes
Of every panda who wouldnt screw to save his species
And oil riggs drained onto all those French Beaches
Youll never see
I am Jacks utter sense of disgust.
These things,
These material, monetarily valued items,
We prize them, they define us in a way we cannot ourselves
But do we need them?
We are the born and raised fodder of todays neurotic social handguns.
Archetypes and Patriotism
Youre not your job...
...youre not the car you own
Your not the contents of your wallet...
...youre not your bank account
You are not a precious or unique snowflake...
...youre not your ******** khakis
We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world
we are all the same organic waste matter
All apart of the same compost heap
Raised to belive we had a purpose, or some higher goal
We thought we'd end up rockstars or actors
But were not, we will work s**t jobs for the rest of our life
And as we find this out, we ignore it in favor
Of a falsely nutured hope
In the world I see -- you're stalking
elk through the damp canyon forests
around the ruins of Rockefeller
Center. You will wear leather
clothes that last you the rest of
your life. You will climb the wrist-
thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears
Tower. You will see tiny figures
pounding corn and laying-strips of
venison on the empty car pool lane of
the ruins of a superhighway.
It is only once we have lost everything, That we are free to do anything
Rock, solid bottom,
With a bullet forced between the eyes
Of every panda who wouldnt screw to save his species
And oil riggs drained onto all those French Beaches
Youll never see
I am Jacks utter sense of disgust.
