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signor benedick the moor - existential humanitarianism as a fashion choice كلمات الأغنية

[hook]
m-ss am-ssed sidekick, work no faster
my fingers are already bleeding and what the f-ck is a factor
i see [?] green in a wintertime pasture
ready to summon demons while the f-ck ask you to past her
i can’t afford school, or maybe i ain’t smart enough
this all just my life though i realize it’s a part of us
cause we’re the only things keeping us from insanity
that and a sh-tload of music filled with profanity

[verse 1]
f-ck pretenders, i’m tired of these contenders
pretentious, so f-cking lame, i’m trying to be like ender
a g*nius behind the scenes, while the heads and money surrenders
while phony -ss motherf-ckers condemn the sales inside blenders
and f-ck the real too, phonies with the zeal too, condemn rather than nurture kids who like punk and seal too
getting crazy, think i should go find my babies so we can escape and maybe feel the feelings i feel too
i doubt it though, but sh-t i gotta hope
i guess i understand religion now is just a way to cope
but sh-t, why we gotta idolize the f-cking pope
we all just humans, are we even f-cking special? nope
well i have to admit, who am i to say
i ain’t even 21 but i do contemplate it everyday
the question that has no answer, elusive like dancers
simultaneous path to enlightenment and a cancer

[verse 2]
twenty years i’ve spent contemplating my death, not like suicide, i just like thinking about my breath
and the way and which the last one will occur
humanity’s obsession with objection makes our lives one giant blur
it’s ironic the way that death has become so d-mn iconic
living is all we do, the human condition is chronic
a byproduct of man’s curiosity and ferocity is it’s ability to make itself so f-cking despondent
i correspond if i’m asked if death would be obliged
a holy ghost or maybe even just a crooked spine
[?] straight about the secrets or the cosmic sky
then maybe then men wouldn’t worry about the way they die
and focus more on the living and those who happen in trouble
babies who’s mommas on rocks, i don’t mean barney rubble
kids who can’t afford a flintstone, who can’t grow stubble
working in fields or factories, making pillows like puddles

[hook (x3)]
m-ss am-ssed sidekick, work no faster
my fingers are already bleeding and what the f-ck is a factor
i see [?] green in a wintertime pasture
ready to summon demons while the f-ck ask you to past her
i can’t afford school, or maybe i ain’t smart enough
this all just my life though i realize it’s a part of us
cause we’re the only things keeping us from insanity
that and a sh-tload of music filled with profanity

- signor benedick the moor

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