the league of extraordinary nobodies.

i've been noticing the fact that nothing glorious can happen anymore, we run the gambit of our filth.
but here i am again pretending spontaneity exists with idiots all lifted out their little grills.
aren't you disturbed that everything you did tonight was something else you did already and its meaning is still new?
or that all the people in your presence are just weapons?
it's as simple as the theory that the dying love to kill.
i been wondering how arrogant it is for me to keep doing the things that killed so many that we know.
i've been noticing how quickly mother fuckers have the answers to existence just as soon as someone goes.
we change the channel for a week or so of cleansing and reflecting on ourselves, but then it's back to that old show.
i hear the cackles of the crowd, they're laughing at us and we haven't even gotten to the part where it's a joke.