I don't care...

Hey, guess what? You're not special. So stop talking about your awesome band or showing off your hip tatoos. Do you even know what that symbol on your arm is? Pretty sure I know a few people who have no Irish in them with Celtic tatoos. If you are one of these people, I'm going to punch you in the face. If you are a guy and wear neon tank tops with super tight peter pan black jeans and high top sneakers and neon sunglasses (or white) I'm going to punch you in the face. I don't care how much you love that band I've never heard of, because I know you don't really like them, you're just saying that because I haven't heard of them and it makes you feel special, and you're not. Sorry, but your band is never going to make it. Your art is never going to be seen. Your book is never going to be read. Accept this and realize that you don't need any of it. Self destruction is only the beginning.

Oh my God...

...I think I'm in control.

Me want to go.

Well, I wonder which song they're gonna play when we go.
I hope it's something quiet and minor and peaceful and slow.
When we float out into the ether, into the Everlasting Arms,
I hope we don't hear Marley's chains we forged in life.
'Cause the chains I been hearing now for most of my life.

Did you hear the '59 Sound coming through on Grandmama's radio?
Did you hear the rattling chains in the hospital walls?
Did you hear the old gospel choir when they came to carry you over?
Did you hear your favorite song one last time?

Young boys, young girls, ain't supposed to die on a Saturday night.

Look at the damage. The fortunes came for richer men, while we're left with gallows waiting for us liars to come down and hang. When it was over I woke up alone. They cut me to ribbons and taught me to drive. I got your name tatooed inside of my arm. I called for my father but my father had died while you told me fortunes in American slang.