Writing in my room
Lighted by the moon
Guided by my doom
Psyche thinking... Why do I consume?
Why do I resume to conspire?
Why do I presume higher meaning to my life, when there ain't no sign of proof?
Why do I lie to myself? What do I like in myself?
What's the purpose to my life that I find in myself?
Working nine to five, plus overtime, I'm exhausted
But I don't pay no mind, honestly, because I've lost it
Feeling quite ill, feeling quiet still
But I've stopped tugging at the cords, I'm just tryna chill
I ain't climbing shit, rolling down the prior hill
Playing images of death, in my head as fire drills

All these foes tryna call me fren
All these masks, all these trends
The good guy dying is how it always ends
And I'm just scared as shit to ever think it all makes sense