Everybody thinks they're so cute so perfect in their beauty
You people might assume yourself objectively nonaesthetic
I'm sure it's very well true
But you all assume yourself so perfect in your misery which make you so beautiful
So tragic and undeserving only you, on your group maybe, but nonetheless the patron saint of losers
So perfect in your absolute
A self assumed absolution conjured by obvious irreproachability to their on malaise
So perfectly desperate and without meaning, filled with that very erroneous beneficent they so proud scream as incipient yelps from primitive man
They are dilettante's of their own human experience and are not worth a pot to piss in yet see that as a point of ego, to facilitate remedial sympathies of their own centripetal nature