Made in Japan, Outsourced Globally

Alright so this is a song about anyone, it could be anyone.
You're just doing your own thing and some one comes out the blue,
They're like,
"Alright"
What ya saying,
"Yeah can I take your digits?"
And you're like, "no not in a million years, you're nasty
please leave me alone."

Cut to the pub on a lads night out,
Man at the bar cos it was his shout,
Clocks this bird and she looks OK,
Caught him looking and she walks his way,
"Alright darling, you gonna buy us a drink then?"
"Err no, but I was thinking of buying one for your friend..."

She's got no taste hand on his waist, tries to pull away but her lips on his face,
"If you insist I'll have a white wine spritzer"
"Sorry love, but you ain't a pretty picture."

Can't knock em out, can't walk away,
Try desperately to think of the politest way to say,
Just get out my face, just leave me alone,
And no you can't have my number,
"Why?"
Because I've lost my phone.

Oh yeah, actually yeah I'm pregnant, having a baby in like 6 months so no, yeah, yeah..."

I recognise this guy's way of thinking...
As he comes over her face starts sinking,
She's like,"Oh here we go.."
It's a routine check that she already knows, she's thinking they're all the same.
"Yeah you alright baby? You look alright still, yeah what's your name?"
She looks in her bag, takes out a fag, tries to get away from the guy on a blag, can't find a light,
"Here use mine"
"You see the thing is I just don't have the time."

Go away now, let me go,
Are you stupid? Or just a little slow?
Go away now I've made myself clear,
Nah it's not gonna happen,
Not in a a million years.

Can't knock em out, can't walk away,
Try desperately to think of the politest way to say,
Just get out my face, just leave me alone,
And no you can't have my number,
"Why?"
Because I've lost my phone.

Don't you know
They're talkin' bout a revolution
It sounds like a whisper
Don't you know
They're talkin' about a revolution
It sounds like a whisper

While they're standing in the welfare lines
Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation
Wasting time in the unemployment lines
Sitting around waiting for a promotion
Poor people gonna rise up
And get their sharePoor people gonna rise up
And take what's theirs

I wonder how many "second lives" we get. If I adhered to the old adage about a cat's nine lives, I am probably half-way through. I feel as if I am walking around with blinders and need to wake up. I say it's time for a revolution...

There are times when it feels like everything is moving too fast. These things tend to freak me out, and I end up just stopping dead in my tracks.

Everyone has a threshold. It's only when people break that others (and even more importantly) the person who is broken realize where the "threashold" is.

What makes us go to that point is a mystery. Some times it is self-instigated, and it can also be the surrounding environment. Ultimately, I choose "experience" as the measuring stick. If the person experiences a monstrous event early in their life, he/she can either be crushed or learn from it. In some ways, it is more fortunate to have it happen when you are young. It shapes you for the rest of your life.

Another way "experience" can shape someone's life is to be a close witness to another large event. If one can learn from it, it becomes either a cautionary tale -- or it can go the other way and become an indirect trauma that he/she carries for the rest of their life.

We live with our past. And if one lived as Captain Happy all their life, some traumatic event will eventually catch up to him.

A friend once said that "everyone in the world has the same amount of happiness, regardless of where they are born and their disposition." We debated heatedly, but I secretly wished that he was right. In the end, we are all born from dust and we all disappear as dust. Whatever happiness was felt during our lifetime is infinitesimal and can only be felt in the first-person capacity. The utility of happiness is probably never equal nor measurable, because I can never peer into another's mind to size it up against mine.

Despite all that, the romantic in me wants to believe that "happiness" of a person is made up of one's self-generating happiness and others' contributing pieces of happiness. Stupid jokes, bouquets of flowers, winning a bet, lazy Sunday mornings, watching one's favorite TV show, talking about nothing with friends and laughing until your stomach hurts... these all add up to someone's "happiness".

If happiness can be accumulated, then I think the act of being broken is when happiness is down to the bottom of the barrel. I wish that there's some things I can do before the barrel runs dry.

The balminess grazes the hair on my arm,
tugging pleasantly -- peeling the mundaneness.
Even the pavement seems to be humming happily,
with the rays of light bouncing every other way.

Slight smell of sweat and sweet grass waft in the air.
Clothes cling in humidity, but even that feels good too.
Not too hot, not too cold.
The ambiance of the dusk is just right.

Couples picnic by the lake,
a bottle of wine, fruit salad, and a candle-light.
Only if the mozzis would leave them alone,
but perhaps they don't even care.

My whole existence stretches outward,
trying to get closer to the warmth.
All pores on "open," taking everything in.
Ah... the hint of summer...

I want to melt. Melt away...