| I’m fascinated with the collection of bad facts | 
| I gather up data | 
| Performing performative acts | 
| And I try to relax by concentrating on my breathing | 
| But then I begin to buckle | 
| Because I’ve been having trouble speaking | 
| Come talk to me | 
| I assume the same of you, so speak freely my G | 
| Most people I meet I meet at sponsored happy hours | 
| Or unaffordable meals | 
| Tell me, which way’s out? | 
| I cannot feel a thing | 
| Just put me down | 
| I’m sorry for the curare-dipped dart in my neck | 
| For a decade I been at the same party | 
| And there’s some norms I’m starting to forget | 
| And I never once dreamed. | 
| My whole life seems to be | 
| A drawn-out re-enactment of the absent space | 
| Between a light’s blinking | 
| I’m fragile in the face of my own nothingness | 
| Like a failed acting career | 
| Cut and paste me into late night infomercial guest spots | 
| Appearances in retellings of sci-fi novel plots | 
| Cuddled up into the cosmos, I’m cozy in juggernauts | 
| Waterboarded on suburban marble kitchen counter tops | 
| I don’t vote or pay taxes, I’m an incapacitated astronaut | 
| And I’m not the one who started this | 
| Pretty soon I’ll be sleeping in on Saturdays | 
| Subjected to wage garnishments | 
| «I miss doing ratchet shit with ratchet friends.» | 
| Now with so much of the past behind me | 
| If I come back after I die, I want to be reborn in the 90's | 
| I’m a creature of the 80's | 
| That means I got one finger on the pulse | 
| The other nine all carpel tunneled and twitching crazy | 
| George, I only made this album | 
| So you could see I never gave up rapping | 
| It’s just all changed somehow | 
| Like you and me | 
| The process has been taxing | 
| And I can barely see you now | 
| But I see you in the flower bed where you’re laughing | 
| This is X-47 to the captain | 
| Can you tell us what’s happening? |