I am here and you are here,
but we are not really here at all.
Chew those up, build that fort.
The sky is a pallet painting our demise.
Our colors are overwhelming and pouring over the sides.
Just keep those blankets and pillows coming,
we are fucked.
But as long as we make it out alive, our ears will reject their babble.
GOD SAVE US! half of us cried,
cry, cry, cry, cry, why are we always faced with our addiction?