Bastards by Joseph Hall

I’m so sick of being, I’m so sick of being, I’m so sick of being low.
It’s all deafening and it’s so threatening and I’m just so ready to blow.
I’m so sick of me, won’t someone stick a needle, I’m so sick of being low.
Shake up everything, this sentiment don’t mean a thing,
cause all this shit has got to go.

I’m so sick of being, I’m so sick of feeling, I’m so sick of being low.
Demons are part of me that go so hard on me,
running as I try to take it slow.
Everybody gets a piece; anger and apathy are watering a head that doesn’t grow.
Kick back: brain attack; or, motivated maniac…
Everybody’s waiting for a show.

Inside, outside, look at all the bastards come collect their pay.
This time; our time; nothing like the past time.
They’ve got nothing real to say.
Inside, outside, look at all the bastards coming to collect their pay.
This time; our time; nothing like the past time.
They’ve got nothing real to say.

• Rock
• ambient
• chill
• indie pop
• indie rock
• pop
• rock
• rock and roll
• study
• Ocala