The World is a Marketable Place and I am No Longer Afraid to Sell

You will be sick for the rest of your life The pain, I promise, will never go away You're going to wake up over and over again, and your bones will ache, and your heart won't beat right There will be bends and snaps in your skin, writing out all your life in third grade cursive And your hands will get sore just by forming a fist and you'll stare at the ceiling and only exist And you will never get better, you will always be sick And we'll lay down forever and chew on our lips Pictures turn to blurs, three dots dancing Everything you hear, new lofi black metal EPs It's Huey Lewis Syndrome, watching Moulin Rouge twice, thinking the same two thoughts every fucking night Staring out the window, hoping someone knocks at the screen Scratch at the arm rest and pray for a disease