"Decent".

"Mr. Anthony, tell me,
How's your life been?"

I could lie to you. Tell you that I'm decent.
But I know that's not true; not really in recent
Days that feel like the sun is finally setting
Two minutes to midnight, we're caught within the webbing
Media cycle following sun and moonlight regressing
The spider dripping venomous, the gray matter etchings
Leaving silken egg sacs to rot to deception's reprieve
And yet they keep on telling me there's no reason to grieve

And they keep telling me my mind's really acting the sieve
And they keep warning me there's really no reason to speak
And I apologize but the rope's been a clavicle necklace
Tightened down and acting reins as I take in my breakfast
Of course I never really seem to have the time
A caffeine spiked mind, with traces of nicotine and strychnine
My ethic strict lines, but really there's not even reason
I couldn't in good conscience speak to you about "decent".