Ode To A Fruitless Job Well Done (part one) - by Ryan Bagwell

I feel it wet, it’s gotten dim
In the end, we’re made of tin
It’s getting done, but where’s the pride
Existing, we dissolve inside
Toys of disposal; toys with no face
Toys to be put back in a lil’ glass case
A room made of windows and very lil’ else
A bitter and petty shell of myself
Repulsed by the thought of a life that is pure
Blindly addicted to the sweet taste of failure
Screamin’ and whalin’ ‘cause everyone’s bailin’
Time, it a’ticks, and that ship is a’sailin’
Desperate for answers, I’m following suit
Could be I’m just too lazy to look
Over and over and over again
Hoping monotony will come to an end
Tired of losing, tired of waiting
My wits, they are wasted on constantly waiting
Waiting and waiting and waiting on what
For a time when good fortune stops being a slut
To everyone else, who seems to excel
While I have to wait to create for myself
My own happiness out of nothing; it’s true
While everything just seems to happen for you