Tomorrow morning
they want me shaved clean
standing straight
smiling like I believe in this shit
But tonight?
Tonight I still belong to myself
My friend said
“Man I think my soul allergic to careers”
He wanna sleep till noon
deliver pizza at midnight
smoke cheap weed behind apartment buildings
make songs nobody asked for
He said
“Why every dream gotta become labor?”
Why every beautiful thing
need invoices and meetings?
They call us lazy
cause we refuse
to murder ourselves correctly
Sing hallelujah
for the burnouts
the couch philosophers
the parking lot musicians
Bless the ones
too soft for the machine
We were never useless
just hard to monetize
He tried becoming “an adult”
wore button-up shirts
answered emails
learned words like “productivity”
But every morning
felt like slowly burying himself alive
So at night
he came back to music again
Like a stray dog
returning home through rain
Maybe some people
weren’t built to climb
Maybe some souls
exist to drift
to notice clouds
to write dumb songs
to love too much
to survive softly
So sing hallelujah
for the deadbeats
the stoners
the failed sons
The world said
“Become useful or disappear”
But we stayed alive anyway
And sometimes
that is holiness enough
