this obscene immaturity is unutterable
the whining, the foul words only a five year old speaks
your flamboyant country songs make me sick to my imperfect stomach
crumbs falling on the ground every second
don’t worry, some miracle will clean up the act
trying to talk about the weather like its our friend
I may like you, but occasional frustrations
Cause this minor loathsome and awkward tension
And a human needs sleep for once in his life
Desperateness calls to spraying relaxing mists on the cold pillows
But this is all futile news
You wouldn't understand a thing I said anyway.