I like to blame past generations for my problems.

Branching off
Into a million sprouts
Meticulously rising
Like doughy thought yeast
All stringy and gooey

I am carelessly careful
Not to fodder
My components too harshly
Since they break so easily

Drifting like a drifter
Boots and sand
And being tied up
To wooden stakes.

I am forced to consume
Your mass quantities
And i gulp and swallow
My hearty bites
Without question, i gobble

I’m feeling freakish
And lacking in certain Qualities
That i wished i would have
Garnored by now

But to sit and sleep
And to wish things into place
Does not work
For humanz like me.

I am here for pretend
Make believe land
1960’s beehive
Tim burton imagery.

I am here to not think too hard
And not work at perfecting
Those tiny things about myself
That i wish to become great

But it’s not my fault!
I blame the low-self esteem
of drunken, immigrant ancestors.
Their blue collar notions of inferiority
Infecting my well being

Oh, to be young, and getting older
Soon i’ll be much better off
In a hostel somewhere in Europe
With no actual human contact
Like Jeff Magnum, just me and a guitar.

OMG SO GAY!!!!!