Swinging left and swinging right, all you’re hitting is yourself,
Flow is weak, but rhymes are tight, I’m an elf on freaking shelf.
Spreading self and my disease, isn’t time to let it go,
Got enough of highs and lows, I revert to words and flow.
Whether happy or messed up, all you did was just survive,
Skip the softer Santa lap, filled with struggle is your life.
Die inside or dead some beef, terminate your very days,
You’ve been racing to the end, hard to change futile ways.
Steps to top became mundane, rushing seems to make no sense,
I’m not losing own lane, never had it, no pretense.
Always lived in others’ dreams, others’ systems of beliefs,
‘Real’ isn’t how it’s deemed, isn’t how it’s perceived.
No objective anything, logic’s only for soul-dead.
Facts are thoroughly brainwashed, hopes are deadlier than lead.
In this world we’re only doomed, at the most we play our part
Through our children. Through the fumes of the fire we don’t start.
Oddly tired as of late of the bull around all,
Can’t keep moving at this rate, had enough of dropping ball.
Yes, I feel and think and act, yes, I am, and therefore
Screw the ethics, morals, tact, this is now, not before.
I will never rob or kill, but I’ll covet every wife,
If they let me. That’s my deal, that is how I live my life.
I am weaker, than I seem, yet I’m stronger, than the rest.
Future may come out dim, go ahead and do your best.
Predetermined, how it is. Your emotions still unique.
You are right and you are wrong, whether life is bright or bleak.
Feel like looking for the truth with a lamp on brightest days.
Feel like letting it all go, and I love to be amazed.
Always looking for the next disappointment or joy,
Often lost, more often vexed, wish I was a real boy.
I’m Pinocchio at best, always gullible through life,
Least I’m made of real wood, let you try your sharpest knife.
Step by step I walk ahead, day by day accumulate
Stories worthy of the dead, never early, always late