Here we are
In a bizarre kind of messed up sort of world
I'd call it a parallel, but it's more of a carousel
Not so straight laced, and spinning at a quick pace
Like "who's that guy dating what's-her-face" And
When is the next party for me to chase that guy I've had my hawk eye on For about six weeks
And six weeks is like an eternity
In a time that goes by at lightening speed
And suddenly it's going half the speed
And the world isn't keeping up with me
Or maybe me isn't keeping up with the world.
But whose job is it it to support the giant sphere we call home?
Sphere being the word for something shaped like a 3D circle--
Something I learned in the monotony of the math class
That's required for the entrance to my desired scghool
(or post secondary institution) but that's more of a solution for what to call This place with its white walls and blank halls
Lit with the bright white of fluorescent lights
And the herds of white sheep
All trying to be black sheep
All trying to make the great leap
From the place of two day crushes and Pokemon
To a place of two-year divorces and promotion
From a notion that the world is going to wait up
While you make your mind up
Directly to the realization that the world passed you on its way back in the other direction. But here we sit in classes. Very still.
Like a still collecting the condensation of evaporated knowledge our teachers spill Like it gives us some sort of thrill to learn abuot this fill
When ninety to ninety-nine percent of us will grow up
Just to keep up the bad rep we've already started
So powerfully and not at all subtly.
Come up with a little dignity
We live in a place where there is a constant race
A competition for the stupid affection
Of a section of a collection of classmates;
A member we won't even remember
After late nights and long fights
And the ladies I know aren't ladies at all:
Whispering while roaming the halls. Correction:
Not whispering. Yelling. Shouting. Professing.
Who they've slept with and who is the white pith
On their friendship orange; who they'll peel off
And throw off, although it contains all the good stuff. I'll admit a lot of it is rough and growing up is tough
From a notion that the world is going to wait up
While you make your mind up
Directly to the realization that the world passed you on its way back in the other direction. But here we sit in classes. Very still.
Like a still collecting the condensation of evaporated knowledge our teachers spill Like it gives us some sort of thrill to learn abuot this fill
When ninety to ninety-nine percent of us will grow up
Just to keep up the bad rep we've already started
So powerfully and not at all subtly.
Come up with a little dignity
We live in a place where there is a constant race
A competition for the stupid affection
Of a section of a collection of classmates;
A member we won't even remember
After late nights and long fights
And the ladies I know aren't ladies at all:
Whispering while roaming the halls. Correction:
Not whispering. Yelling. Shouting. Professing.
Who they've slept with and who is the white pith
On their friendship orange; who they'll peel off
And throw off, although it contains all the good stuff. I'll admit a lot of it is rough and growing up is tough
And grow up.
