The Theory of Self Respect

A inflated balloon drives itself
Into the corner of a piece of forniture
And bounces on, off to discover
That chairs weren't supposed to be there
Someone is catching the grass
With a loose grasp of the hand without thinking
Justly this was what he schemed all along
He planned wet fingers to ease down his mind
A whiffle lifts the back of the jackets
The cygarettes accelerate
Masking the anxiety of those wearing black
Just to blend across nights of michiefs
Better said than done
Better said than done
And how do I know?
I am the blackest
My tension grows
With every blow
A waterfall of notes shooting
The speaker, meager of density
I am eager to leave
Faces I don't wanna see
Places I don't wanna be
In
It looks like history
The people around me are excerpts of
Chronology,
Revamped mistakes
Portraying themselves in pics
This is nothing like me
I have to leave
I need my air, my own smoke, my own drink
This box was being
Made to contain
You actually think you could contain the pain
And how do I know?
I am the blackest
My tension grows
With every blow
A waterfall of notes shooting
The speaker, meager of density
I am eager to leave
Faces I don't wanna see
Places i don't wanna be
In