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wilbur soot - dropshipped cat lyrics

skinny jeans on the bench press
you burn the candle at both ends
if anyone asks why
then they’re not worth your time
why am i so out of breath?
club sandwich pressed in north end
grittled shank on rye
a gunshot at half time

adoration of the mystic land
that idea of me, who was that man?
a wooly picket line
intestinal red wine
now it’s hard not to suspect
your lying tell is bated breath
i inhale for suspense
you triggered my mammalian sighing reflex

so i take everything as a lesson
something i trained out of myself
with mindless self_indulging confidence
indulging in whatever quick release i could muster
social media, carbohydrates and cannabis
the world was my oyster
and i was the knife by which they’d shuck
but now he’s dead, he’s gone
i f_cking start anew
i’m a developmental beast, wrong version of myself
sixteen bathrooms
sixteen bedrooms
sixteen fridges
64_bit computers
fifteen of them
oh, how nice it must be
to feel so bored

i just need to find
someone to tell me
i’m just tired

- wilbur soot

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