I'm so lucky that he finally wrote me back today.
I'm so lucky that no one listens to a word I say.
I'm so lucky that men ask me the same question every day, to which I always respond, "no" but they'll ask me again tomorrow instead of just going away.
I'm so lucky there's no place I'm welcome to stay.
I'm so lucky I have nothing left to forsake.
I'm so lucky I don't have to pretend to ache.
Am I really worth trying to save with this dead heart that has no desire left to feel better than just OK.
I'm so lucky I have no name and no fan base.
Music predates possessive egos over inflate.
I should be so lucky just to make it for it's own sake.
It will outlive that uniform of glory long after those ambitious bones have been thrown into a shallow grave.
Maybe you will be so lucky to one day see it this way, after repeated losses and failures waste a few of your preciously short young decades and you've been stripped of all the trappings of what you once thought made you so fucking great.
I'm so lucky I'm not attached enough to ever again feel completely betrayed.
I'm so lucky that society has no openings for people like me with dirt on their face.
I'm so lucky. Would't you agree? I can't complain really. I'm so lucky. So anyway, back to what you were saying.