this is from the sinkholes of the uninspired this is the
result of the loss of luster on life and my unsteady hands
reach forward for something luminescent to grasp but my
begrudging feet move to carry me back to my blue collar
veracity this is planned when we're born our lives are
mapped you know the formula follow the herd I can't feel
any gratification and I don't want to feel any passion or
duress no one should have to experience the suffocation of
their livelihood but we do and we build these prisons for
ourselves be it children credit cards houses or whatever
else we think we need we toil to support our own hells well
I refuse to be part of a perpetual labor heartache