There are no good lunch tables
There is never enough
They’re not really clean, too much ruckus, not enough time
Too many people who dislike me
(A euphemism for hate)
All lunch tables are the epitome of social inferiority
These people who are your friends
The people you sit with will not heal you
Why would they fix you?
Why would you be broken?
Everything we do we do it for ourselves
(A euphemism for selfishness)
You will find new people to sit with at lunch
You will become your own epitome
(A euphemism for self-worth)
Every day you live will either build you or tear you apart
But who cares if you’re falling apart?
Who cares if they strip you limb from limb?
Who cares if all you are dissipates?
If you take it all in
And it’s too much
And feel like puking it all up
If you are alone
It will pass
(A euphemism for death)