So little to want… just a beer, a cigarette, a small place to stay with a window in the street.
Everything you ever wanted.
Careers, Partys, Christmas, Hot girlfriends, Cars, Exotic destinations.
Detached from the world.
A true nobody.
Just a beer, a cigarette a small place to stay and a type writer.
Observer of life.
Philosopher of the lowest.
Being alive with the cost of being a loser.
Being authentic with the cost of having nothing.
Being you with the cost of losing everyone.
Drink your anger.
Smoke your feelings to death.
Misunderstood. Never fit in their normality.
Sleep your weak body from anxiety.
Wake up with a first breath through a cigarette.
Sipping down coffee and alcohol.
Never fit in in their sickness.
Never obey their autistic lifestyle.
Working here and there, no employee branding, no corporate values for you.
Hard meaningless work to survive.
But it’s Sunday today,
the sun has come up after days of raining.
Having nothing, abandoned.
Reminds you the only thing you ever had, a warm feeling of sun.
It is Sunday morning, babe.
Feel the sun, drink from my beer, smoke my cheap cigarettes.
It is Sunday morning, it is for us.
It is a good day for the damned.