i thought it was because i lived underground that trouble came around. a single solitary cell where the days come and go inside the halogen shells. somewhere the cycles of everything turn into one droning note. i thought it was because i lived inside myself that the nature of the game was without an aim and ended there too. then youre never afraid of anything but that. i thought it was because i have no self control. nothing matters anyway, it will always be 1929 somewhere inside. everyone is foolishly intelligent, absurdly intelligent, obfuscated goals founded in a quixotic hope of fulfillment of some sort. i only know what people tell me. i reuse, reuse, reuse, reuse, reuse, and refuse, then reuse. its a shame to have never spread your mind over the table side and flood everything. its cause i have nothing to follow that makes me alive unless i am with trouble. but that gets me nowhere anymore, i cant know that or i will soon follow you out the door.