20

I was born a mess of blood and tissue
I taught myself everything I can do
Like how to eat and how to sleep and how to choke
On the vomit my reflexive thoughts evoke

I hear all the time
The echoes of my footsteps I am inching towards the finish line

The only set of footprints is my own
And with every double-digit dial tone
We are tapped into the cables like a bomb
And our keystrokes sound like a semi-automatic gun

Subjectivity
Is all the rage in the first world countries
All the top percents
Abide by sacred documents
And I'll sing till I can't talk
But I'll still tow the line between explained and lost
What pioneers are we
So I sing happy fucking birthday to me