Strange Matter - Full Of Garbage lyrics

I don't know anything I'm full of garbage I am a heart glued in a machine My moments of freedom are far and few in between I'm part used and I'm usually clean Dirty dishwasher soap suds Left a bunch of messes Left to much undone Someone snap me out of this Everything I said before right now is just a carca** Hard sh** the day I was born Target to hit, starve them again Say that I won't Marketing pitch As a means to catch a couple schools of fish That play in the storm What is the difference between a bump in the road Or a little lump in your throat When they say to stay and conform? Nothing I could claim to have the answers and I do The problem is if they don't work for me Then what's that say for you? Trips up north don't always go as planned I just want my mothers hands touching my head Who left the box of colored crayons on the bed I guess it's time to dream awake and start drawing instead Find the cure to the common cold But first you have to meditate myself into a shamans soul I am the goal, I am the one Sacrifice it whole minus zero find the sun Some say art heals a lonely heart Don't worry, I believe it too Throw the dart, hit the hype Forgive me I have nothing sincere or clever Needless to say I am bright and young forever right? There's nothing better then counting cold money I am an artist in other words, I'm ugly Hungry, yet I hold the schedule Process the pancakes and wash all the vegetables When I get bored there's not much more a four second Window to explore before I explode American blood trained to just let go Get real high, it's all you have to do to get low Taught to indulge in the pleasures till we get hooked Then feel guilty if I don't use the medicine you push Look, it's all in good nature, good hands Paid in good faith that one day I'll be a good man My leg doesn't hurt it's just my body putting me in check Physical frustration mixed with regret Living like a pet pent up do a couple back stretches Eat a smoothie and forget what I'm doing, no panic Go to the studio write a little jingle for the sixth grade mix tape Turn it into something beautiful and hope it gets played enough for me to get paid Oh isn't this is just great, funeral Money running Newport babies running laps Round my inner maps tracks on a lunar pull, daily Journey circuits ambush, universe crazy I refuse to fret let new fuse mating come in due time Make a subtle contribution Strategic now, so puzzle my solution I thought they'd rush in when I was truly being me Eh wrong a shooting star covered in gold is poopy bronze So I had to make the fool to introduce em to the heart Glued in the machine that was singing the right part of the song I wish that I could be exactly how I was before But if i was then who would be the dummy that you now adore!