Note to self.

[Verse 1]
I'm an impostor... of what, I don't know
I feel like a monster... evil I won't show because I call myself being cute to academics and macadamias
They both probably think I'm a bozo
Can't escape the word "pretentious"
I heard it mentioned, and I scoffed
I hate when words live on a buzz... all the sobering ones end up lost
I think about the word "discouraged", and I'm reminded this is a half-court shot in the dark, and I'm blinded
It's more like full-court, but fools sport optimism that they did not earn
This cynicism got learned
98% of my discography is nocturnes
Tried to cremate hopelessness, it would not burn
I can't just usher in a new attitude
Too much I have to prove, though I assume you won't care...

[Hook]
I still taste echoes...
They said they are dead, though...

[Verse 2]
I should marry that industrial dancer from the Vines, and we can do that dance to this song a hundred times
What am I but a bitter ex and an idiot
Hideous; [my] ballskin looks like Darth Sidious
Really, this is sidestepping the hurt for the silliness
In 2012, my shoulder was the chilliest
But now, due to global warming, I am sporting a sun-stained smile for these employers I am courting
Now my appeals to pathos are boring
And nobody will honestly believe I'm in mourning
I rebounded like Alonzo, just to get called fake by a Gonzo journalist
I'm murderous
Still refusing to be smart with my purchases
Every song is me shooting darts at worthlessness, tryina' tranquilize the fucking thing
Never hit the bullseye, so this song is a cruddy thing

But...

[Hook]