What the fuck?

What the fuck am I doing?
Why do I care so much about myself?
What is the difference between me and anyone else?
What am I chasing?
Money?
A life I don't even want?

I have received the gift of complacence.
A calm that comes to me out of thin air
It scatters like an intrusion when you light up the room.
I'm caught, a coward, alone, masturbating
Wasting myself

I want to be useful
I want to be real
I want intercourse
to be part of the earth
I want to be useful
I want to be part of the earth
I want to be real
I just want to be real.  

I wanna know why I care about myself
But why should I spend the energy?
When complacence comes to me freely
I want to share this with you
But I fear that I would be misunderstood

I want to be useful
I want to be real
I want intercourse
to be part of the earth
I want to be useful
I want to be part of the earth
I want to be real
I just want to be real.