Mr. Nobody. Real life, fake lotus
Break focus. Way too normal to take notice
Women and rage. Sugar, salt, cinnamon, sage
The city throbs. Endless shitty jobs and minimum wage
It’s nonsense. Flashy patterns, polka dots and gold checkers
Cold efforts. Avid collector of old records
Mostly poor. Little things you have to look closely for
I hate kids and standing in line at the grocery store
I’m divorced. Exile enforced. New fears
A few beers. I haven’t had sex in over two years
I've tried to trust. It’s useless. I wallow in my disgust
Why discuss it? No car, I ride the bus
Steel doesn't decide to rust it just does
Words written out with your finger where the dust was
Cliché. He-say she-say. So funny
Forgot to laugh. Go study. Call me Mr. Nobody
The invisible man
I’m hiding in the bushes
The invisible man
I’m stewing in my own juices
The invisible man
Writing letters to the editor
The invisible man
Riding a bike with a flat tire...
Unfurled young girl. Stand up. Strike back
Get dressed. Don’t hold yourself open like that
It’s terrible. Carrying on. Precarious position
Jumping, kissing. I look in your eyes and I see that something’s missing
You've been punished, brainwashed. Pain squashed
Haunted and hunted. You could have had anything you wanted
Now you’re ruined. Screwing around with a villain
If I ever find out who did this to you, I swear to God, I kill him
The invisible man
I’m hiding in the bushes
The invisible man
I’m stewing in my own juices
The invisible man
Writing letters to the editor
The invisible man
Riding a bike with a flat tire...
Mr. Nobody was produced by Skratch Bastid.