Garbage Post: Mud Truckin’

More than making it to payday

More than making it to the weekend

More than making it to the end of the shift

More than making it to retirement

Can you tell there is more, than living until we’re covered in boards

Can you see the distractions as wheels, how underneath it all something squeals

No more. No more.

Drugs, drink, food, sex, pills, entertainment, paychecks don’t satisfy long enough, open your eyes

Promises of peace from those who lie won’t act as a lullaby, we’ve tried pretending we’re a few laws away from perfection

Everyone has all the answers spinning every tire in the mud swearing the next rotation will be the way out

No more. No more.

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