Another year grayer, another year older,
another gray folder to submit to my peers.
I’m destroying evidence of my phases but deploying
the phrases I’ve stored up through the years.
Another year thinner, no one is the winner.
I’m watching things get out of hand.
Watching the worst of humanity storm the stage
as people cater to their demands.
With every new chart, I think I’m leaving my mark
like I’m setting the future right.
Littering my lyrics with petty complaints,
as if the future will be basically bright.
We’re preparing and preparing to try to proclaim
the one thing we’ll never know.
If we’re proven right, the result will be
the same as if we just let go.
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