The problem with you is that you’re really not a nice person. I don’t care at all, you don’t have to stand me, you know. All I wonder about is how you might see the world and think, it isn’t in a good way. Lyrics don’t mean a thing for you. You’re far too superficial to recognize what actually happens around you. Your played sensitivity is jut a way to get your little ego pushed. A good taste, of wine, a meal, doesn’t count for you. A good book is just another one for you. Drugs..sex…well, is made and be taken. Are you a robot? You look georgous but beside you know that there is nothing more special about it.
It’s people like you.
I have nothing against you, but nothing for. It’s a mess I’ll never get.
People like you.

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