Elliott Fifth

I don't get it, I get drunk
And that's not poetry within me
That's a fifth
And just because I've got a knife in my chest
That doesn't make me Elliott Smith

I know you wanna rail some junk and cry on stage
But there's more to this art thing than just drugs and pain
"Real artists set themselves on fire"
Give me your wrist, I'll carve some flames (I'll carve our names)
I continue to feel like such and asshole
With my completely defective brain
I think that the final time I feel devoid of a spine I'm gonna snap
These dudes are buggin' if they think that's alright
Oh fuck it, who wants to fight?
Maybe you and all five of your dumbass looking friends
I'll keep my hands by my sides

So fuck being an artist
And fuck everything that word implies
I am an anarchist that stays in bed, follows the laws, works a shitty 9-5
And it makes me fucking sick

If it hurts me to smile I guess I'll try sewing my mouth shut
So when I throw up stomach bile it will leak out from my mouth cuts
I am completely aware that at minimum I've got to be like the three
Billionth dude to sound like this
To write songs like this
But the difference is none of them had you