I’ve murdered someone who deserved it and other such realities

I have to piss, but let me ask you this: what is punk about?
Is it about hating the government or is about hating your parents, what comes out of your mouth?

Are you a poser or do really want to make a change?
Then give a buck to homeless man, on your way to Spange

Give a buck to me, because I really fucking need it
I'm always depressed because I’ve killed a man

I murdered a child molester
I smashed a brick against his head and every part of me is happy that he’s dead

Do you ever ask yourself what you’d do if you were happy, if you didn't have the linger of depression on your mind?
I have to ask myself every time I roll out of bed: how do I make my feelings mine?

Because I lose track; I forget where I am
From night terrors to existential dread
I feel like everyone would be less bothered if I were dead

But is that really true, I know some of you look up to me
And I love you, but tell me where is my company

I had a love
Where has it gone?
Is enough to keep me happy?