First world problems
My needs become calamities on a global scale
Import, export - Fortress Europe
The door is locked I guard the key in my hypocrisy
Blood on my hands, I wash it off in alcohol
History weighs a tonne I feel the need coming on
My guilt dissolves in my drink as the lines blur
Heavy conscience
My blue blood coagulating running out my nose
My privilege cut up in ziplock bags
I tell myself that it's alright, I do my part in the fight
My lies accelerate with every other breath
More lines, more lies, more lines, more lies - wild and frantic eyes
I make myself feel better, but when I wake up, I feel worse
It takes a lot of coke
To be so fucking woke
How do you sleep at night?
How, how, how do you sleep at night?
Brigt lights, white lines
White Lies!
I need white li(n)es