I've done every step of the plan from that Dandelion Hands songs that I've been listening to on repeat
I've done it all a million times with no improvement and an overwhelming sense of defeat
So I've just given up on trying to be a better human being
I'll wallow in my emotional filth, that others call emotional wealth, because I am a musician
Keep smoking because it's the only sense of consistency that you have left in your life
If there's one thing you can count on, it's that you've f*cked yourself for life
It's the fact that you'll still be addicted tomorrow, next week and in a year
It is a miracle that you are still here
When you've got nothing else to count on, why do you still count on yourself to try and stay alive
When it would be a trillion times easier just to die
Because life is so so hard when you have to part
With some taste of perfection and direction, because you are a musician
You are so so lucky, you get to stand in front of a crowd every night
Except from internally I'm panicking that I'm talking too much
About how much I want to kill myself every night
And it's not out of spite because one person said they didn't care
It's out of spite because many people said they didn't care
When I could talk about it, I wrote about it
And when I was bored of that I sung about it
Magically musing over amusing the idea of music as a possibility
Because I could be a musician
But all it takes to be a musician is to call yourself one, learn three chords
Write some terrible poetry about how sad your life is
And then keep calling yourself one denying all evidence to the contrary
And I am ready to admit that I am not a musician
I'm just a normal f*cked up guy, that no one should idolise
With a pen, a guitar, and a problem where I freeze and can't breath if things get too hard
I am not a musician
I am a bedlam patient, not to be celebrated
I am not a songwriter
These are the ramblings of a madman