I had a friend who had to vent on a time that left him quite (?).
I asked exactly what he meant and helplessly he said, "
I'm just a boy with a broken dream and a chemical dependency that's eating up what's left of me while they say 'plan ahead'." He asked his father, "
What's the point of future (ancient?) rights?" And Dad replied, for the first time, "
I think you might be right. '
Cause your generation's on medication, blinded by (?), wallowing in procrastination, frankly bored of education, live in free of foreign nations' nuclear annilations, searching for an explanation, while I have the realization that it's all my fault.
And such is life.
I held a girl for a bit of a while in an age where a smile was out of style.
She made denile seem worthwhile and I never quite knew how.
She had a voice and a wish for fame and claimed the world would know her name.
I told her, I once felt the same, but look where I am now.
So, darling, keep your head on straight.
This vision won't pan out.
She'd say, I always get my way, and you can just get out.
So, she worked real hard and she danced away, but she put on a play for her mirror all day and the years went by.
She turned 28, over the hill and a little too late, with deteriorating mental health.
The president's dead 'cause she proved herself.
And although you've never heard her sing, she's on magazines and tv screens while she sits and smiles in a prison cell where she hung herself with a studded belt.
She went out like a star.
And such is life.
I knew a fella so tried and true.
He's a lot like me and a bit like you.
Who struggled through when found he to a social web of lies.
He saw the things he chose to see inside a world of fantasy.
And, he never fit comfortably in anybody's eyes.
But, when the system pulled his card and said, "
You turned out right.
We fed you fear for 18 years, preparing for a fight.
So, son get off that unicorn and come try on this uniform. '
Cause these are the colors that never run: Red, white, blue, and a silver gun.
Though he never laid a finger on anyone, he just sang his songs and had his fun on the battlefield he met his end when he took a bullet to save his friend.
His mom got word the other day and a letter that read, "
Thanks anyway, but that's how freedom rings." And such is life.
My thought on everybody else would lead me back to view myself and take the sorrow that I felt to build a case-in-point.
My home sweet home of lemon drops, where dinner's served on counter tops.
The healthy family unit stops when parents disappoint.
The stranger's hand that feeds you is a jackel in disguise, that sends us poison arrows from apolocalypic skies.
There's a fallout child with an empty face, who'll finish last in the human race in a vegetative state at his parents' place, an ashamed disgraced who's afraid to age.
His rage enslaves a caged white dove who's raised on drugs and selffish love, the product of a time defined by me, myself, and I combined with a (?) on a sting of pills, while the world keeps turning or standing still, and growing up all wrong.
The sandbox lines are drawn.
The backward beat goes on.
And such is life.