where we came and you lost your shit,
disappeared with just one wish
on every lucky charm in your collection.
Protection from karmic thieves and the need,
the taste of sin on lips kissing the prince of peace,
to know how to cheat your way around evolution
and the constraints of this model rat race.
We're too old to abuse so much substance,
too lucky to be so despaired,
too far off the map to be in search of heaven.
Whatever... we're getting there.
You have to make the choice in life
to either be happy or comfortable.
Comfort is tucked deep in a place, someone else,
a means by which you ignore what's miserable.
Happiness... the way you find happiness
is how you cure any misery.
Getting there...
Too old to be so abusive.
Too lucky to live in despair.
Too fucked for the front door to heaven.
Whatever...
We’re too old to feel fine with this violence,
too lucky to live in despair,
too far gone to think anything of heaven.
Whatever... we’re getting there.
You have to make the choice
to try
for either comfort or happiness.
Your third story apartment
Lay your hands on me and laugh
through old stories you resurrect -
what you'd die a hundred times to protect.
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