VERSE ONE - MORE OR LES:
In Western society, it's chill to pile work on.
Push yourself to a limit. Who could give it,
Y'know, a fuck - about your mental health?
"Oh yeah, that's just some jerk-off
who can't hold their shit together." System tells ya
that lie and more. Like "go buy some more, you can work off
the debt til your seventy." When I was young, met plenty peeps
working in the Art industry, used work in Finance,
quit, ‘cause they wanted to live beyond some triple-bypass
heart surgery. Some feel some urgency to keep up with the Joneses.
They jonesing for respect. Compete wreck
getting overwhelmed with no assistance, insisting
that they can go the distance on solo missions. A reflex
to just grin and bear it. And shit is buried in cisgender roles
like: moms handle everything and dads never show
any weakness. Stress gets released in
numerous ways - unhealthy, tumorous pain,
you wanna lose but it stays!

CHORUS:
[How y'all feel out there!?] Overwhelmed ‘cause I
got more problems than time to resolve ‘em.
[And it goes a little something like this] quite a lot.
Told that I should seek balance - I just want the stress to stop.
[How y'all feel out there!?] Overwhelmed, like these
chores are creepin’ up, and I’m just not keepin’ up
[And it goes a little something like this] just so often
that I think I’m too soft and sensitive and should be stopping.

VERSE TWO - MIKAL KHILL:
Sure, slide it over, I can take another project

A couple months might pass before I look at it in earnest
.
I’m good at carrying the burdens. I always wanna learn shit
,
Until I’m taking my lumpings crushed beneath my heart's furnace
.
But is it worth this? I want a better house
,
Better food on the table, and fillings in my mouth
,
Better AC, I’m in the south, gotta churn it out
.
Got you covered no doubt, the hook is gonna bang loud
.
As long as money’s green, the smile is a smoke screen
.
Bleeding out my life force - the American dream
.
Since I was fifteen, pouring out my heart

Working every week to break my brain into parts
.
Guess it’s a start. I got thirty years to go

Before they take my drained husk and throw my ass in a hole
.
I’m letting go of the idea of free time
,
Cause I’m on the clock every day until I fucking die.

CHORUS

VERSE THREE - MORE OR LES:
There are kids that are starving. Animals harmed and
our environment dying at a rate that's just alarming.
As a thinking, capable human, I think my job is
to right all the wrongs, get involved, help with stopping
all this BS I detest. But all too often
panic starts to build. A manic response is instilled.
And installed - pressure-sensitive trigger will set it off.
And perceived societal expectations will tell us all
to "Suck it up, buttercup." This is guaranteed to lead to a
clusterfuck of emotions and actions. Now I'm feeling
overwhelmed, so I'm packing my bat and
ball and glove, leaving the game and going home,
just ‘cause I can't hit a homer on the first go. So
switch the metaphor to “war” - I took the idea to “pick my
battles” as a better strategy. It's just a fallacy
that you can save everything - not a thought that I'd condone.
Just leave it alone. Accept select missions.
Only impossibility's not willing to be changing your vision
from black and white to when you bend light through a
Prism…