What is the capacity of our lives

How much shit can we fit to satisfy the fetish

Of material commodities

Possessions, the ruler of happiness

I can't resist the overindulgence in this shit

In order to truly understand our ridiculousness

I would have to been stripped

Taken away from my ever-growing mountain of bits

It's not just a disorder of the rich

It's nearly American to be stuck in this ditch

Even when the majority is living in the pits

At what fucking point can we agree that we really have enough?

As the mountain forges upward, we suffocate in an abundant heap of our own chattels

Assets like a drug, to satisfy

Sufficiency is a dream

The modern perception of adequacy is a fucking disgust

Desire is an infinite void with out borders that can never fulfill the eternal lust

If only we could see the boundaries

Perhaps we would be able to draw the line to separate what we truly need

Self-gratification seems to come wrapped in plastic

With a price tag on it and every fucking store seems to have it

We are told to soak it up

To keep a full cup

And this is considered a blessing

What the fuck?