Lyrics: Perhaps I'm slightly biased because I just finished watching American Beauty for the first time but I'm sitting here thinking about the worthless shithole we dig ourselves into and call a routine And it's not just the everyman who's got it bad Sure, his routine is the easiest to recognize: Get up, go to work, come home, sleep Throw some meals in the mix there, too But, everyone knows the everyman is a slave to routine Art constantly points out the mundanity of the standard 9-to-5 life to the point where art that points of the mundanity of the standard 9-to-5 life has become incredibly mundane in and of itself I can't fucking stand it Everymen aren't the only people who drag themselves through a deliriously drab lifestyle Making art can feel like a fucking chore sometimes Sometimes I lack the inspiration required to make something great But if I never make anything I'll starve to death So I force myself to be creative and it doesn't always work because well over half the time I look at what I've made and I just immediately delete the file because I know what I've created is insufferable garbage that I can't allow to see the light of day And I hate myself a little more because I just spent so much time creating something only to despise its very existence And in those moments I relate to the everyman, working in an office for some corporate entity He and I both spend innumerable amounts of energy doing something that won't ever affect us again But I envy the everyman For when he feels insignificant he can just look up to me I do something that matters I'm an artist Everything I do is for passion and love Life is fucking amazing But when I look at my art and hate its existence and its meaninglessness Who can I look at? Who can I find solace in? At least the everyman has me Theoretically, no one's got it better than me And knowing that makes me feel even worse 'Cause the shithole I've dug myself into is actually on top of the world, and down below me is even worse Mundanity dwells in all of us I'm supposed to make art out of love or passion but sometimes I've run thin when it comes to either of them Nothing I do makes me run cold or jump around with excitement I just hear it and I feel nothing Now the music's stopped and I'm just sitting here rambling, wearing your patience thin as a listener This song isn't good This album isn't good My last album wasn't good My art is just worthless shit and I don't know why I fucking do it 'Cause I don't feel a fucking thing

Lyrics: My parents chopped down the tree my neighbor and I used to climb when we were kids It was dying and they didn't want it to fall down and destroy my car While the tree was alive I remember my mother yelling at me for climbing it, saying that it was too young and that I would break its branches I guess I don't have to worry about that anymore