You wanna know what I think?

I think we’re born free,
and sold into slavery.

I believe we have the right to choose,
but no right to dictate the choices.

I wanna love everything and everyone,
if only to balance all the hate in my heart.

I understand I’m a prisoner of my own devices,
and some of your devices too.

I feel like I’m drowning in sand,
and it’s spilling through the needle-narrow neck of an hourglass.

I fear there’s nowhere near enough time to do the things I need to,
but there’s too much time for the things I want.

I yearn for peace and quiet,
while running riot and screaming my head off.

I know nothing about everything,
a little about some things,
and this bothers the hell out of me.

I accept it all, and this is what sets me apart.

I think we’re born free,
and sold into slavery.

I guess it’s just the drudge in me.


He’s six-foot-one and his clothes always fit.
He sees you looking but he don’t give a shit.
He’s Imperial… Slim.
He’s Imperial… Slim.

He’s got more bitches than your fingers can count
but it’s not a figure that he cares to flount.
He’s Imperial… Slim.
Yes, he’s Imperial… Slim.

He’ll pass you in line without a second thought.
The things you wanna own? He’s already bought.
Those cries in the night are the ones he’s caused.
Not a blemish,
not a scar,
not the tiniest flaw.

He’s Imperial Slim.


And it’s on Spring afternoons like these
when the sun is shining with exactly the right amount of gold
and the Radiohead is playing just so
that I realize I didn’t miss Tokyo at all,
just her
and the billowing cool of her indifferent beauty.