The high of solitude Coinciding with the lows of crowding Shrouded in monsoons of diverse anonymity I swear I seen her somewhere before No I didn’t they just look alike They all look alike They all feel the same talk the same Love the same fuck the same And here I am wanting change Surrounded in a generation who praises their ennui Worship their pretentious nonchalance I would accept them by the ten the hundred the thousand I will survive no fleet with millions of sheep.