Rot On The Vine Lyrics

Thirty ghosts reside in my shadow. Their achievements: whispers in my ear. I cannot outrun them. They inquire: “Are you a typical 21st century twenty-something? A man seemingly confined to a time zone, who confides in UPCs and quotable platitudes. Oh fortunate son, you tread water, you run in place. Child of privilege, middle-class white male of the Peter-Pan Generation: what is your defense?” What is my defense? I scour my room where painstakingly saved-up pennies and stamp collections dwell. Nothing but to-dos and wish lists and dusty dreams that prove I've always been more Cameron than Ferris. What good is a labor of love locked under glass? Even a hopeful future tense has nothing on the active present. I will smash my ceramic pig until I have spent every cent of my efforts.