andrew. your manifest is too robust

andrew you're sinking fast,
oh andrew, of latter day fame,
hey america...drop a dime and blow a line,
every chance i get mom and dad,
write home

ciggarette smoke never tastes like candy boys.
i wish i

piano rifle fingers
keyboard whistles,
draft day,
we go to war with jitters,
mislead for years,
with the intentions of dying,
i left home for another land,
with the intentions of living,
i left home, to stay alive somewhere else,

how do you do, kind mr. killing machine?
yeah he was right,
yr still just a pawn in their game,
yr the antichrist oblivion,
textile bomb giant,
putting them in clothes long enough to enslave them,
yr the death of my generation.
and yr damn proud of it