gerald lee palmer raises his daughter at a house in the suburbs.
he spent half of his life making auto parts.
he dealt with the layoffs, got an i.t. job, and raised his kids like statistics.
now every so often he thinks of his daughter.
and she wakes up still consumed by his silence,
and he wonders why she don't call him.
she gets by, goes through with her life.
she occasionally thinks about how it's his fault that she's fallen...
belly up.
so we are all lonely. we are all 'if onlys.' we are all porcelain dolls on display.
we are all products of hard working americans.
but we're roadblocks to efficiency. we are the inaccuracies.
we are the victims of a c**ture that describes happiness in economics.
and we wake up unfulfilled in the silence of a million clueless f****** patriarchs.
like gerald lee palmer, who misses his daughter,
but he never even talked to her.
and now it's his own fault now that he's fallen...
belly up.
he spent half of his life making auto parts.
he dealt with the layoffs, got an i.t. job, and raised his kids like statistics.
now every so often he thinks of his daughter.
and she wakes up still consumed by his silence,
and he wonders why she don't call him.
she gets by, goes through with her life.
she occasionally thinks about how it's his fault that she's fallen...
belly up.
so we are all lonely. we are all 'if onlys.' we are all porcelain dolls on display.
we are all products of hard working americans.
but we're roadblocks to efficiency. we are the inaccuracies.
we are the victims of a c**ture that describes happiness in economics.
and we wake up unfulfilled in the silence of a million clueless f****** patriarchs.
like gerald lee palmer, who misses his daughter,
but he never even talked to her.
and now it's his own fault now that he's fallen...
belly up.