Note to self.

[Verse 1] I'm an impostor... of what, I don't know I feel like a monster... evil I won't show because I call myself being cute to academics and macadamias They both probably think I'm a bozo Can't escape the word "pretentious" I heard it mentioned, and I scoffed I hate when words live on a buzz... all the sobering ones end up lost I think about the word "discouraged", and I'm reminded this is a half-court shot in the dark, and I'm blinded It's more like full-court, but fools sport optimism that they did not earn This cynicism got learned 98% of my discography is nocturnes Tried to cremate hopelessness, it would not burn I can't just usher in a new attitude Too much I have to prove, though I assume you won't care... [Hook] I still taste echoes... They said they are dead, though... [Verse 2] I should marry that industrial dancer from the Vines, and we can do that dance to this song a hundred times What am I but a bitter ex and an idiot Hideous; [my] ballskin looks like Darth Sidious Really, this is sidestepping the hurt for the silliness In 2012, my shoulder was the chilliest But now, due to global warming, I am sporting a sun-stained smile for these employers I am courting Now my appeals to pathos are boring And nobody will honestly believe I'm in mourning I rebounded like Alonzo, just to get called fake by a Gonzo journalist I'm murderous Still refusing to be smart with my purchases Every song is me shooting darts at worthlessness, tryina' tranquilize the fucking thing Never hit the bullseye, so this song is a cruddy thing But... [Hook]