The Lichtenberg Figure

I'm not the greatest writer

Oh, I'm not the greatest, no

I'm not perfect, not even novelist

This time you better listen up

Oh, life have barely changed

Twenty-two, still pissed

Plenty of shits in the backpack

And Nikes on my feet

Many pieces are missing since I came back home

I can't deal with my own life

I'm incomplete

Another empty wreck, shit

I'm just the shell of a man which is absent

I'm wearing his skin but I'm partially vacant

What I have is far from being gold

But I write open-hearted, my balls in the inkwell

Fuck it, I'm done with swallowing bullshit

Since hitting it off has become an addiction

I needed more than these words going nowhere

To show you that my life is not such a poem

Some black clouds will get so much bigger

No matter how lucky I am

I've never learned how to live with the thunder

My heart is a lightning rod

And I'm walking under a thunderstorm

Mesmerized by the lights

With my eyes half shut

I do live through these lines

Writing this song just to say what I got to

I need much more than these words

Just to show you that it's a struggle

To be able to believe in this life

I write with my heart open

Even if it can be so callous

Just listen, this heartbeat have so much to say

I just can't keep it in

I just won't keep it in

I'm not the greatest writer

And this isn't the greatest song

I'm not perfect, not even novelist

I'm not saint, I'm not a fucking prophet

Fuck this, I'm just drifting

I keep moving pushed by the movement

I'm still trying to pull the strings of my fucking life

Oh, you can keep the pain

The fame, the money and the whores

Cause I'm a body-shaped shell in a sorry state