It stinks when all the familiar things
Pull me in like gravity
And kills my originality
And creates a nightmare from a dream
I sink into an empty rut
And get an aching in my gut
I feel like a quadriplegic slut
An un-ripened fruit that can’t be cut
The symphony within me lacks instruments
And I’m so cheap I can’t spare the expense
Not that there’s anyone I’m trying to convince
It just feels like a sick form of punishment
