Talk (lyrics)

from by Oxford Circus

lyrics

I am the postmodern middle class.
Poetry comes out my ass--
what are my words but passengers?
(shouldn't they be messengers?)
but god, I'm only messing here
with things others created.
Was it fated?
No, brother, I fake it.

I've got no right to talk at all.
I've got no nighttime life at all.
Grew up in a middle class neighbourhood,
food on the table, and life was good:
hockey on the street,
love in the home,
shoes on our feet,
real talk--no phoney shit, no.

Can't I complain, though?

I've got no right to talk at all.

I am the postmodern middle class.
Decency shoved up my ass.
What are we but passengers?
Please don't shoot the messenger,
but god, the only mess in here
is one that I created.
Was I fated?
No, brother, I made it up.

I don't go to church 'cause I'm my own person;
I leave all my friends 'cause I don't deserve them;
I don't go to school 'cause what the hell's learning
if I have to spend the next ten years earning
the money to pay for
some lame piece of paper
I'll never even use,
but got because you told me to.

Good lord I am so alone.
What have I got to show for this?
A bike's too good to chauffeur this
lame ass bag of bones.

Can't I complain, though?

I've got no right to talk at all.

credits

from Postmodern Middle Class, released August 7, 2015

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Oxford Circus Vancouver, British Columbia

A lame ass middle class white kid with issues.

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