There are palmtrees in town, to be funky for a while,
They make cocktails in pubs, for fake holidays at night,
A few trees in gardens of companies to forget sickness
of part time living, and city life as a fight.

I think cities are sweet if you can enjoy it,
While living for your Friday nights will never be fine,
We all need something more, something to work for,
To let the light in, to make the dark shine.

There are gigs in the streets if you keep your eyes open,
Great people near you if you keep your heart open,
There’s a soundtrack as you walk if you your ears free,
You’d just love all these people if you knew their story.
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But if you learn, then you work, and you don’t think at all,
Do you prefer a career, or a life to go through?
What’s left of you if you take away your job?
Life comes first anyway, so please love what you do.

You’re born, then you’re dead.
Between the two, no matter what.
From the day you’re born, you’re made to speak, then to study.
Study hard study well, that is your duty.
Primary, secondary, Uni, then Job!

We’re all set for that dark machine
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Cause you don’t go further, no you don’t pass over.
You don’t think, because they told you “learn that shit for me, won’t you?”.
You don’t learn for knowledge, but only for privilege.
To get a good work, and a good meal, if you do it well that’s the deal.
You’re planning to buy happiness with money you get from your boss,
you don’t wanna fall into laziness, doing what inspires you, because the 22 years you invest now just have gone behind you.
That’s how it works here today, whether you study or you die,
all they told you since you’re there, you don’t know if it’s all a lie.
Cause that’s the system.
If you start asking what to do, they’ll tell you to work more, but if you don’t wonder a little bit, you’re stuck in formality even more.
If you start watching TV, then you’ll become a f*cking racist, because all they’ll tell you in the news is that white French people are the best.
That those who won their lives are those who invest,
the business-man, the hard-worker, who spent his life getting power.
They tell you politics are real, and you need it,
so that you forget it’s marketing, and you accept and vote for it.
It feels like politicians with great vision exist only in fiction, and these you see are the well dressed, that will sell best.
Right here behind you is the system that made you, there are the guys that always told you “Live, work, die, delete your dreams and wear that tie”.

I’m a little bit angry about what you did,
I’m a little bit angry about what it means,
If I spit on acoustic guitar,
I don’t even know if it heals the scar or if it makes it even worse
That the actual factual casual pain you gave me
When the words punched me into the wall,
 
I don’t give a damn about many things, but I can’t ignore all the sadness it brings to be lost in lust,
At list it allows me to let my lovely weird feelings fall on my computer keyboard,
Oh lord,
 
I hate to be like this,
We all hate that catharsis, you feel lost in the dark looking for the light during your nights watch.
Nights to sleep or nights to think,
My mind made the choice alone, I couldn’t even blink,
I totally get that I piss you off,
But you should also get that I feel a loss,
Now it makes me weak about everything I ever trusted in,
What if I was the jerk who’s complaining
And you’d have done nothing but helping me realizing what I really am,
What if music was only a way of getting somewhere or getting to be someone until I’ve got to get a proper flat and find my place,
I feel like I play with my bones to find my place,
it’s like a game of thrones finally.
And if my face melts it’s that I lost the game, maybe it’ll get me to live alone with a guitar looking for bars to give credit to my music, asking labels to pay attention to me as I stick to the rhythm because it’s the only thing I had ever known.

Because it’s a poor paper who pays your bills,
It’s a perfect example of what humans made as we blow the pills,
We gave up all the given gifts to give credit to the traps we receive.

We smoke these sticks of poison,
We kill animals for lotion,
We eat 24/7 like potion, food created by promotion,
Because we want to live easy,
But we don’t wanna get fat,
So we eat and then we throw up,
Because our belly has to be flat.
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That’s basically the same for everything,
You, you loved and you let go,
Cause finally “you’re more like a bro”,
I’m trying to hate people but I just can’t,
I’m just trying to be decent,
You come you go, you live you die,
You get one shot but it’s all a lie,
I make music for my personal state,
But now everything is about fate,
Either it works, it pays for what it is,
Either I have to write shit to get some fees.
I’m a little bit angry about what you did,
I’m a little bit angry about what it means,
If I spit on acoustic guitar,
I don’t even know if it heals the scar or if it makes it even worse
That the actual factual casual pain you gave me
When the words punched me into the wall,