The cost of living is bleeding me.
Foundations breaking.
Walls breaking free.
A good investment you’ll say,
but my cash sinks into it day by day.
No gun to my head, true.
The cost of living is bleeding me.
Brakes squealing,
muffler dragging along the street.
A necessarily evil you’ll say,
but my stress keeps rising day by day
No gun to my head, true, yet…
Unbalancing me, your greasy wisdom imparted
leaving an itch in my heart’s hollow.
The cost of your vision is bleeding me.
The wheels have come off the cart,
screaming into the abyss
of an unwakable dream.
I’m running on a Möbius strip,
back at the ending,
your gun of freedom in my hand
now turned in my mouth.