7 Years of Bad Luck

Because it's mean doesn't mean it's not true,
You know, what people think of you.
Men are mean, and so are boys (fuck the girls, they're full of noise) reluctant to think about themselves
and who they are and what they want.

Your lackluster features, your dull sense of wit.
Yeah, maybe you are full of shit.
But so what, it's not the media, right? What your best friend tells you late at night when you can't sleep can't eat can't stand to see yourself and who you know you are and want to be?

Do you know the secret of mirrors and how they line the halls of Kings?
They are very honest very true blue sorts of things, they show you your reflection who you are and where you stand [I once saw this in Wonderland]
Who are you when you see your image when the mirror's in your hand?

What is a reflection but the opposite of you, pull it up in photoshop reflect an image I speak the truth.
Technically, it's really you, but the other side.
Glass with cheap reflective back is what you'll let tell you who's you?

You You You.
Who Are You?

Who. R. U.

Will you let the caterpillar, searching for his butterfly, ask you who you are when his hookah runs so dry?

Everyone is like a cup.
Fill 'er up [yo get fucked up]
Optimism, pessimism, no one truly gives a fuck.
But instinct wants you to be filled (anything from being killed)

Your lighter, sharp razor, your condom, your Bible,
You're searching to serve your body's [temple] Disciple.
A name's just a name, and since life favors fighters
You don't need me to tell you why your future ain't brighter.