BONUS: Dear Machine. Hate, the Cog (Ode of the Cog, Non-Fiction Mix) Lyrics

They say that time heals all things

They say you can always forget

But the smiles and the tears across the years

They twist my heartstrings yet

She's beautiful

I hit a crossroads recently, when I had my first royalties pay

Four thousand dollars for the month of March

Paid out in the month of May

And as I reached it, I remembered

I heard the voices of my friends, my parents, my teachers say

"Enjoy the fun while it lasts

You'll have to get on the treadmill one day"

And yes, I know

I get it

That is just the world in which we live

The amount we receive in return

Rarely justifies what we give

But for the first time, maybe ever

I see a path I want to walk

A path on which I can prove to myself

That I'm not all talk

Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's

One day you'll start walking and you won't stop till mourning

I'll admit it, I'm fucking scared

It's a fickle game to play

The scope just keeps tightening on what I do

And what I think, and what I say

But for every fear that I have

Two more dreams come to settle its score

Now all I need to do is step through that door

So I've taken two weeks off

With no intention of going back

But as I did, I felt the gold in my eyes

Start fading down to black

I think it's doubt?

Or shame?

Maybe guilt?

Or a combination of it all?

Why is it that once I'm finally on-course

I get the overwhelming urge to stall?

Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's

You owe me five farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's

When will you pay me? Say the bells of St. Bailey's

When time runs its course, says the voice of remorse

But God knows you'll fail

And end up fleeing with tucked tail

The black behind my eyes makes its way to my stomach

As the pit begins its wail

Here comes a candle to light you to bed

And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!

BUT I AM NOT DONE YET

You know perfectly well what is the matter with you

JUST A FOOTNOTE IN EVERYONE ELSE'S PSYCHE

You are mentally deranged

SICK OF BEING THE MEAN

How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?

Four

No. How many fingers, please?

Four… Four! What else could I say?

Room 101

Under the spreading chestnut tree

There we sit, both you and me

Rooted underneath this old machine

The chestnut toils. The chestnut breathes

The chestnut quiets. The system groans

The chestnut, tired, heads back on home

Too weary to think. Time, too limited to try

The chestnut repeats till it dies

But perhaps with enough time

And strength, and luck, and zeal

I might just prove that a chestnut can be free

A life spent writing rhymes and expressing the things I feel

Sounds pretty damn appealing to me

Each tick of the metronome, each chime

Each beat, each chord, each spiel

Is but one further disconnection from this tree

So it may kill me in the process to do this full-time

But without, I may never heal

I may yet die poor

But I will die me

Please

Please

Please

Please

Please forgive me for being vain

But there's so much more that I want to say

This pit that's been growing inside

Is leading me astray

It may not last

And as time flows past

I may just regret this trade

But I offer you my resignation

And I offer to them this tirade

So fuck you

Oh, I quit

I never opted in to this game

So no

Fuck you

I forfeit

I'll die as I am

A weak, small man

Before I surrender to your abyss

I may well yet crash and burn

But for now, just let me have this

They can torture you

They can make you say anything

But they can't make you believe it

They can't get inside you

They can't get to your heart