Raised to not go out at night. Or not go out at all. Because the devil dwells and delights in night parties. But I am a rebel and I don’t care. It’s 12am on a Sunday morning. sleep's refused to find me; Eyebags the size of yams. the booze's like a fountain and my hips are ready to be swayed. Fun - that's my watchword, and the name on my car's plate too. it's only midnight, The party never ends and I will not end either.
From a young age, we get programmed by our parents and teachers to follow certain rules and guidelines. These rules were meant to mold us into people our parents could brag about. Once we broke one of this rules we were called stubborn. Broke two rules and we were suspected to have joined bad gangs. Broke three rules and we were downright termed rebellious. Now at the age of 21, I think about those ridiculous rules and I laugh. Were those rules for my good? Or were they for the good of my parents so they can ‘save face’ in the presence of their mates. How does a piercing make me a bad child? How does a short skirt make me a lady of easy virtue? Dye my hair and I’m a motorpark tout? These rules are tired and I am tired. Tired of living my life for my parents. Tired of not making my own decisions. Tired of not looking how I want to look. I will rather be a rebel and be free than be the perfect child in a mental prison.
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Night life
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Raised to not go out at night. Or not go out at all. Because the devil dwells and delights in night parties. But I am a rebel and I don’t care. It’s 12am on a Sunday morning. sleep's refused to find me; Eyebags the size of yams. the booze's like a fountain and my hips are ready to be swayed. Fun - that's my watchword, and the name on my car's plate too. it's only midnight, The party never ends and I will not end either.
From a young age, we get programmed by our parents and teachers to follow certain rules and guidelines. These rules were meant to mold us into people our parents could brag about. Once we broke one of this rules we were called stubborn. Broke two rules and we were suspected to have joined bad gangs. Broke three rules and we were downright termed rebellious. Now at the age of 21, I think about those ridiculous rules and I laugh. Were those rules for my good? Or were they for the good of my parents so they can ‘save face’ in the presence of their mates. How does a piercing make me a bad child? How does a short skirt make me a lady of easy virtue? Dye my hair and I’m a motorpark tout? These rules are tired and I am tired. Tired of living my life for my parents. Tired of not making my own decisions. Tired of not looking how I want to look. I will rather be a rebel and be free than be the perfect child in a mental prison.
- 銷售量
- 轉移