Cast out, alone in a crowd. Lines of communication broken down. Self-inflicted exile. You’ve fallen in love with the sound of your own voice. Take a mile for every inch when given the choice. Mastered the art of repetition but you’re completely devoid and incapable of original thoughts or contributions to the conversations you didn’t start and will never fucking end. You condemn assimilation but traded your identity for a seat on the choir that you preach to every fucking day. I see right through you. Master in the arts of nothing new. Nothing new to offer; worthless and just taking up space. Nothing you’ve ever said or done has made a single difference or effectuated change. Bought into the hype. I’m here to cash you out because it’s boring me to death. You’re just a part of the problem; wasting all our time and your fucking breath.