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Troubled Hubble
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14,000 Things to Be Happy About
Tell your mom, you're not coming home tonight.
You've got your youth, your will, and you're willing to fight.
And no conscience, could keep your heart in one piece, there's passion to be found, there's stress, there's release.
So, into the open air to soak it all in and live your life like the world owes you something more than, what you have. Like a one way ticket or any free ride, a brand new box to put your head inside.
Or a neat, new monument, with your name etched in.
A home to call your own, new problem-free willingly withdraw from certainty and lack of sleep on the pure and peaceful path, of stupidity.
Growing gets hard, waiting gets old to you.
I know, that feeling's no fun, it feels like you're out, down and done too.
Oh grow up, when will you ever learn?
When will you learn, that candle in the window is going to be the reason your whole house burns.
And the money... It's a carrot on a string.
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There's a horse standing over a black hole basement after losing everything.
But your car, you know, it runs like a dream, and your hair and skin are so fucking clean.
Everyone looks at you, like you're an angel or something. But we'll take the fake happy over knowing what's wrong and we'll give you the stuff that you need to belong, and hope that's what you need, by a small chance.
A quick and heavy dose of acceptance.
Growing gets hard, time is running out.
You'll die, a young and exciting death and tell us all in your last breath, I'm done there's nothing to be happy about.
And we dance, and the flowers come up through the footstep floor mat.
And now's your chance, to seize this all, you seize this all, while you're smile hides what's beneath keeps the sadness a secret as we grow old, and take it all with us. Now, I know, there's mistakes that go along with youth, so choose, to replace or take them with you and I feel so bad now that I'm so old, so angry, so broke so unhappy, tattooed and ugly.
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