Boxes and tape,
its happening again,
it always feels the fucking same,
Like a really long and tricky tetris game,
Just a room that is mine is all i need,
A space to myself where i can think and breathe,
With so many boxes….
and so much stuff,
my brain feels confused,
my brains had enuff,
Back to the parents,
your back AGAIN,
each time’s feeling more and more lame,
“Your 22 you should be out on your own,
When i was 16 i had a business in Rome!”
“In your day it was different” I fight to explain,
“it was all about hippies and weed and cocaine,
Its harder now to have a home where you belong,
everybody’s singing the same old song,
“so why are you wasting your time with art”
My Dad always says things that come straight from his heart!
“Because this is what i do Dad, its the cards i was dealt,
“Might as well fight my corner and tell him what i felt”,
so back in that little room i will be,
with boxes of shit making it impossible to see,
What is what and where is that?
I can’t be arsed to take it all back.
Until i have enough money again,
the moving game will always be the same.