(Listen to "The Hardest Part")

The Hardest Part

I’m a White man in America with two college degrees

Average height, span, and good character—I can do as I please

No dogs, kids, and I’m single, hell, I’m free as a bird

Got my call grid and I mingle (for the love of the word)

Dazzle ‘em with brilliance and baffle ‘em with bullshit

Hell, I could make millions—the young perfessional-bit?

But I keep leaving jobs and travelling around the world

I mean, it’s not that I’m a slob that I haven’t kept a girl

It’s just this discontentment, this feeling I don’t fit

This goddamn independence, so yeah, I don’t commit

I’m a bit apocalyptic and mildly psychedelic

It’s not all talk and mystics—if you ask me I can tell it

So I’m feeling out of place, and yeah, amotivated

Why would I choose to face a world so enervated?

So full of its own scientism that it cannot face the simple fact

That you don’t need bars to die in prison if you run a race without a track

I get that it’s non-local, a ride of infinite jest

In fact I’ve been quite vocal, do not deny we manifest

Realities, perspectives, pits of hell and fields of glory

That what we see as laws, directives, might as well be allegory

So I’m comforted by cyclic time and synchronicities

And fill my head with rhythmic rhyme and mystic mysteries

Like why is it so hard to laugh that cashing in’s the hardest part

When riding on that artist’s path where passion is a starving art?