Can I not tread on these unholy branches any longer?
The ground is worn, my feet are stuck in god knows what
[Refrain]
I would contemplate existentialist bullshit if the trees weren't fucking staring me down
This can't seriously be a motherfucking lake
This makes no goddamn sense I'm going home
(fuck this)
At least 'til I get some head of illusion
Writer(s): Peter Alexander Bunke
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