8/23 cardboard kids...

verse from a dope big hell song:

I've got no answers no cure for this cancer no gold bricks imprinted with balinese dancers, no chance to erase those misplace connotations. My plot's dug I'm pacin, watch what I'm facing/ my disdain mistaken and called unimportant. My patience and the soapbox I was born in have worn thin. Each morning so cyclical, stereotypical. My stereos miserable there ain't shit to listen to. 
Still I am mister cool, the guy tryna fit in
We all look the same but I know I'm different.  The sky knows my limit, so gifted don't twist it. The irony's scripted you blink you might miss it/
My footprint is copied from carbon then cut out, outsource my resources pray we don't run out. Thank good the sun's out, let's do it again. Knowing I'm not that piece of cardboard that y'all think I am...