Chris Cornell’s America

Does it inspire you more than anything? 

Gets you out of bed with some fire in the belly 

You run your legs hard and fast going to the next worst opportunity 

Speed flighting past that amazing, aesthetic dawn which your apathy built 

You’re so revolutionary to nobody

But the weak and easily impressionable 

Reply with the same tired excuse

Because it’s easy to shit down your leg whenever you’re not good enough 

Blame it on something people will rally behind

You’re actually a victim, congrats 

That same cure which keeps you boring, unless you have a punching bag to assert your temporary dominance

You’re a pawn in the world of black and white

Sure, take your moves, but where’s your power? 

Can you have even the ugliest, rattiest guy dead yet?

Can you even pay off your debts from a illustrious past?

Nothing. A bag of empty aspirations who I laugh at every day 

You’re small and you know it. That’s why you’ll kill yourself once the world realizes how talentless you are 

You’ll stop being a beacon of light as soon as your skin wrinkles and your thoughts can’t progress from the usual banality

Or when you can’t attract anything but bad karma 

A piece of junk even to those closest to you 

They’ll quietly be relieved when you’re gone so just…kill yourself now 

The universe spits at you while you take compensation prizes amounting to nothing 

A splinter in the foot is the most you’ll be to anybody worth their stones 

Cheap souls with no risks 

Consider the jealousy

Welcoming the taste of a fate without remorse 

Like something stupid would

Hold on, a three letter, government agent is calling me telling me that I’m getting too populist