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 carcass

Hard shit 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!