A Hole Which Doesn't Quite Heal
Be young, be happy, be sick and dying,
Any little problem is solved by crying,
Foetal-curled and helpless, you want to be alone,
Yet scream for love when you're on your own.
Washing seems so pointless, done again and again,
Only to be suffocated in this daily dose of dirt.
Why get up at all if no-one wants to see you?
Along came Prozac, now it's fashionable to be you.
Love your hate, and hate your love,
Obsessed with words and sleeping rough,
Stay awake because you're so tired, everything is useless.
Days spent wearing new skin, your identity is faceless.
Can you sense pain? Are you working? Can you feel?
Cut yourself just to feel so real.
Surreal maybe, you're dead already, this is hell.
But it's so cool to be like this, because depression sells.
It isn't easy being perfect,
My lack of sex a sex appeal,
It isn't easy being wasted
You made this hole which doesn't quite heal
It isn't easy being perfect,
It's so so morbid.
- Miguel C. Kesey