Why's it so instinctual when somebody asks how I'm doing to say just fine? I can't remember the last time that wasn't a fucking lie.
I'm wrapped up in tinfoil, coming of age, wallowing in the dissatisfaction of minimum wage.
Why's it so habitual when somebody asks where I'm going to say I don't know? I know where I'm going. I'm going nowhere at all.
I'm wrapped up in tinfoil. Save me for later. Keep me fresh on the top shelf of your refrigerator. Your belly is full so you can't eat me now, but if you keep me around maybe you won't regret it.
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