relative progress is relative
to the progress of people i despise
i'm sure they feel likewise
and so we progress through halls of spite

despite the young minds rushing past
we hold each of our ground on the couch
and feel the ungodly hour vouch
for the undiagnosed tumor of life in our brains

can't let them see me getting up
to visit the bathroom or the vending machine
and the girl that claims to be nineteen
will sip her beer, dreams full of rain