With teardrops in my hands

None of you have learned to die

You all pretend you’re still alive

You’ll never eat or be a type

The lives we live to give off vibes

A mood board told you who to be

What to like, what friends to greet

How much to spend, what ends to meet

You buy, they sell identities

These things I say are aimed at me

I’m not the man I claim to be

The fame I seek can only fleet

You’ll die to meet a lowly NEET

And don’t you speak on what to do

I don’t think I will understand

I’m used to dying, through and through

with teardrops in my hands