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 butts 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