Confessions Of The Rich Young Ruler Lyrics - Singles - Augustine

Feel like a stranger in a strange land 

Twenty-something and depressed, guess it isn't what I had planned 

Can't stand all the brands and the logos 

While the Logos is a no-go—no, the truth 

Doesn't sell, not too well 

Tell me why I'm fetching books from the self-help section of hell 

(And every bell's like a death knell) 

Unfit for the modern world 

Everybody selling something, got to sell yourself to get the girl 

Look at me, look at me, here's my C.V. 

Are you a Mac or a PC? 

So take it easy on the Francis of Assisi 

Don't really see the point if it don't please me 

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Listless at Christmas 

What if I don't feel merry? Bit scary to think 

I can't evolve 'cause I can't solve the missing link 

Spilling ink like I'm on the brink—jump and sink 

Where's God? Are my ears so flawed that the Word's unheard? 

Nah, He doesn't even wink 

Misty from the issues calling for tissues 

Refugees, mass shootings, and the planet that we misuse 

And the sick news continues into ever-new venues 

What's next on the menu? 

If I retreat from all your links and tweets, would that offend you? 

Don't really care what you share about the darkness out there if you're blind to the demons within you 

Confessions of a blessed twenty-something who's depressed 

Took my restless heart to God—where's my rest? 

Just trying to be honest like the Psalmist 

I'm not the flyest guy, I'm not the calmest 

Promised joy, but I'm sadder 

You can call me Jacob's ladder 'cause I'm up and down, smile and frown 

Pound for pound, no match for Old Scratch when he's unbound 

Photos 

I thought the truth couldn't hurt you 

Then I took the red pill and I read After Virtue 

Don't mean to be a grump, dumping words, in a slump 

Modern thought got more fluff than the hair on Donald Trump 

And the women come and go 

Talking Michelangelo 

But they mean the ninja turtle, and I don't know 

I just don't know 

Excuse my muse losing storylines 

Eternal sunshine of the plotless whine—hope you don't mind 

My sound and fury not as purely stirring as the Bard's 

But existential angst is soarin' high as Kierkegaard's 

Used to feel I had a trail, now I bushwhack 

How can I wrestle God if He doesn't push back? 

Feel like a stranger in a strange land 

Twenty-something and depressed, guess it isn't what I had planned 

Can't stand all the brands and the logos 

While the Logos is a no-go—no, the truth 

Doesn't sell, not too well 

Tell me why I'm fetching books from the self-help section of hell 

(And every bell's like a death knell)