They'll stop eating at McDonalds, refuse to be French and will no longer look at the weather channel. In any case...
it'll rain.
The doubtful will explore their choices, in vain, inevitably. Why change the world, if it'll blow up?
And then they'll realize that to drink cold beer with a beautiful brunette isn't that bad. To stare at a girl is worth more than a lost cause. Love, not
war, that sort of crap.
We annoy society for the last time. We sell our poster of Che.
This girl becomes your wife, the fresh beer becomes part of you. You'll pack into an apartment that you'll have to pay for, a job, then a car, with an
common entrance and optional AC. We'll save up for Christmas, and a bit of sun at the beach. We become big, ugly and gray. The little idiots will
stop playing on our backyard, and we'll remember that before, we had a project.
In a world of black and white, only the stars have colors
I vomited in my cornflakes
If the children all want to become astronauts, it's because they want to leave behind this Earth they live their entire lives. Then, they grow up, forget
NASA because of a F in math and listen to blackmetal, vomitting beer. They come to hate themselves, without knowing why. High school teaches
them to circumstances of failure, humiliation, smoking, and suicide. Those who graduate ruin themselves with dope.
Then, the sun will brighten the road a bit- they'll see their future because there isn't one; they'll search within only to learn that everything perhaps, it
isn't only their fault.
Then, they'll dabble in politics, another world is possible, to change would be terribly cool. They'd buy T-shirts with red stars and will find the word
revolution very beautiful. It's looks like revolver, or, better yet, like evolution.
234 comments
it'll rain.
The doubtful will explore their choices, in vain, inevitably. Why change the world, if it'll blow up?
And then they'll realize that to drink cold beer with a beautiful brunette isn't that bad. To stare at a girl is worth more than a lost cause. Love, not
war, that sort of crap.
We annoy society for the last time. We sell our poster of Che.
This girl becomes your wife, the fresh beer becomes part of you. You'll pack into an apartment that you'll have to pay for, a job, then a car, with an
common entrance and optional AC. We'll save up for Christmas, and a bit of sun at the beach. We become big, ugly and gray. The little idiots will
stop playing on our backyard, and we'll remember that before, we had a project.
We remember...
A production, but not a product
In a world of black and white, only the stars have colors
I vomited in my cornflakes
If the children all want to become astronauts, it's because they want to leave behind this Earth they live their entire lives. Then, they grow up, forget
NASA because of a F in math and listen to blackmetal, vomitting beer. They come to hate themselves, without knowing why. High school teaches
them to circumstances of failure, humiliation, smoking, and suicide. Those who graduate ruin themselves with dope.
Then, the sun will brighten the road a bit- they'll see their future because there isn't one; they'll search within only to learn that everything perhaps, it
isn't only their fault.
Then, they'll dabble in politics, another world is possible, to change would be terribly cool. They'd buy T-shirts with red stars and will find the word
revolution very beautiful. It's looks like revolver, or, better yet, like evolution.
C'est la vie , la société est dure