I could waste away with politics,
or drown myself with wine.
Confine myself to solitude,
and inject poison into my mind.
Meanwhile outside, everything still grows,
Wild like fire and fury, while I wish alone.
‘Cause if assholes could fly, this place would be busier than O’Hare.
There’s proof in the sky.
It’s as thick as our skulls,
yet it’s thinner than air.