Mine is an ugly, irredeemable soul. I make derivative music nobody thinks is worth paying for. I think thoughts few people have any interest in. I am vain, self-conscious, afraid of the people I share a planet with. I am a monumentally stupid emotional being badly disguised as an intellectual.
Not quite numb enough to prevent self-indulgent tears, not quite brave enough to ask somebody to listen to my pathetic mimsy, I become a stagnant pool of internalised bullshit. My mind is not here. My heart is not here. My body is trapped here.
Oh to live in less interesting times or to learn a less melodramatic personal script. Oh Jesus, oh Buddha, oh diabetic donuts save me.