No more chess, no more queen’s gambit, thank you
Now’s the time for sudocoups
Fuck fake news and fuck you too
Open your eyes and join the queue
*
It’s time to crash this party
Pick a side or a bone
It’s time to pour the tea
Take a red pill or a pillow
*
The message’s pretty clear
It’s written in capitol letters
The future, the end is near
It can only get bitter
*
All things seem confirmation
Bros and urobros
All of us high on information
Stuffed sick with sloppy joes
*
I wonder who started that caravan
That small town serenade
That storms and drops
Into darker days
Journal de Pensées 