Take One for the Team

Sick of my husband

Sick of the boys

Sick of my iPhone

Sick of my toys

Sick of all the people

Sick of the TV

I’m sick of nothing ever

Happening to me

And when you’re dead, who needs a name?

It’s all grist for the mill

And I don’t mind the advertising

You were lucky you were killed

So go act shifty round a cop

Go waltzing naked through the creeps

You got to take one for the team

Because I need white noise to sleep

I don’t exist

Tired of my marriage

Sick of my divorce

Sick of masturbation

Sick of intercourse

And now nobody calls me

Nobody that cares

No cameras, no autographs

Just family and friends

And now you’re dead, you don’t need your name

I need grist for the mill

Yeah, I don’t mind the advertising

You were lucky you were killed

If I speak my truth in the forest

And no-one’s around to cheer

Might as well not fucking bother

Might as well just disappear

I don’t exist

I don't exist

I don't exist