I feel so dumb
So void of conviction
Afraid of my symptoms
I locked myself out
There’s nothing in this empty house
To save me from my lingering doubt
Your image in the very space
I inherit now
I tell myself that everything is going to be fine
Yeah right
We are the product of a broken class
But, we weren’t raised to be fucking morons
I am the product of my fathers burden
It wasn’t promised to me
So if you want to come and smoke on Friday
I’ll make a promise to maintain my distance
I never wanted to retreat so quietly
Let’s smoke a cigarette