No anarchist or alternative for nothing
yet never subscribe to the mainstream
for all that public mooing sounds odd to your ears
still you measure your moves by its ripples
loathing the hollowness of conventional
yet cannot detach yourself from it
calmly deceived by familiar sheltering wings  

So there you are strolling down your semi-private lane
keeping the gigantic motorway at a site
never a part of
ever apart from  
no one prepared you for this kind of life
day by day stumbling trouble and strife
following traces of illusive happiness
sparkling just a pint away

Cuddling young beauty, sweating at work
sleeping with your clothes on, crushing at the bar
All this constant breathing sums up with
nothing but accumulating scars