No Seatbelt Poem by Nico Campe

I'm eating leftover thoughts of you, alone in my basement.
Plates litter the western coast of my room, as my echoes return.
My echoes are ever so loyal.
Bleed out the sin of empty hotel rooms and poorly wired heart beats.
Search empty and loud noises for a small imperfection to a simulated environment.
The imperfection is best left alone, we share that in common.
We hum the same tune.
I'm sorry that i can't find the right time to be correct for you, but at least I'm not going Hungry.
Focusing on the imperfection, it will make life a bit easier to deal with,
The imperfect don't have a standard of living, freedom is the ability to make a choice, Slavery is that the choice's consequences are decided by others.
Always a slave to freedom,
I'm sorry i couldn't free you from how it feels to have no echo, no seat belt.
When i could see id laugh at the blind, but at least I'm not going hungry.
Can we ever make a choice that is ours and also choose the consequences of that choice, Obtain the riches form of naivety and cliche happiness but I guess we could pretend. Distracted your mind, trick it to believe you are trying.
Trap the thoughts and torture them for the information thats most correct in the eyes of Your corrupt government, take the information that suits you.
Then share it with the rest of the body, inspire it to love, inspire it to hate, inspire it to die or to live or to leave…
Maybe even stay.
Mistreat the thoughts to fit what they should, not what they are needed too.
I hope that when its all done, whatever 'it' is, don't say I didn't warn you to wear a seat belt But at least i didn't go hungry.
I am imperfect, I'm sorry that you agree with me.
I should have told you a better lie.
Sorry that you and I are slaves making fun of the free.
Shout with me,
Lets see who has the more loyal echo, which one will return?
I'm sorry, i'm alone in my basement cursing at empty hotel rooms and music that is too common… at least I'm not going hungry.