Finger Eleven - Bones and Joints

I've been down here before/
all my bones and joints are sore/
lost myself and so much more/
find my way out of the game again.

Yeah that's right. I'm sick of the charades, the facade. I'm totally fucking sick of it. Enough of the masks, enough of the mannequins, the people. Fuck ya'll. No man is an island my arse. I'm an island.

The hypocrisy is killing me.

I see in colour, all of you see in black and white. We cannot relate to each other no more. You can all go live in your own little worlds where you can't see beyond the next girl/guy, the next meal, the next outing, the next trend, the next big thing, the next fuck, the next time you get stiff. Enough.

I'm losing it and I'm losing it fast.

I can't wait for school to start. At least then I'll have something to do, something which I occupy my mind with. No time to think. Just work as hard as possible and come home exhausted. Sleep to recoup my energy and off I go again. 6 months of this. I can't wait for it. I love the vicious cycle of routine sometimes. It's mind-numbing. But perhaps that's problem. Routine has killed off all your attempts at individuality.

It always comes back to this doesnt it? The struggle of an individualist to be an individual among many other individuals.

Why do people always assume that I'm the one with the problem? Why can't people see that it's not me but them. That when they tell me not to think too much, what they're really asking me to do is to become a dumbass fucktard like the rest of the world. It's like giving up a sword to gain a penknife.

Dumbfucks.