Well it's almost tomorrow, I better do this.

Puppet master pulling strings
Throws in false reality.
Makes me see things
Makes me do things
Go away, please
All I need are scissors,
You know, the kind you're not supposed to run with
Cut these strings
Pack my things
And leave.
Go north till I see the lights
In so many nature magazines
Swirling phosphor embers of green
Running far,
Running fair.
Hot breath on my neck
Wind in my hair.

The machinery of everything astounds one
Running like a hamster wheel around the sun
Coming up behind you again
Ruin the stiff robotic circuits, Harsh phonetic plastiseen-it
Sever your amenities
Try not to think about it.
Ditch your cellphone in a pond, please
You don't want to want shit
But you are addicted

Grow up in a place
There they tell you it's what's inside that counts
As you stare down the double barrel of someone's ideal image
Model citizens.
Preach inner beauty
In a jungle of hypocrisy
And constant image-judgement.

These swirling lights around my head can tell me why I am not dead
spreading hope like syphilis
Keep my wits about my head
Stay +, it's important.

Damn, this is terrible. At least I got some icky stuff out of my system. Good night folks...