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Description
The world is this sick machine, it's breeding a mass of shite.

I should know. I'm Eliza. I'm 19.
Any more you need to know? Of course you do. You're like everyone else.
You ask and ask and ask and ask.
"Why did you chop off all your beautiful hair?"
"What do you mean, you're leaving?!"
"You can't make it on your own, especially in Europe!"
"You come here, missy!"

But I can't hear you anymore. I rev the engine, check if my suitcases are in the back seat, and smile resentfully at my little brother Max.
Max is 9, poor kid.
Mum and Stepdad look at me like the want to rip my head off. I think they have plenty reasons.
But I can explain later.
Or why not now? It's a long way to the airport.

I was born an accident. My pop, my real dad, would always tell me he'd take me to Britain when I was old enough.
That's before he killed himself through his liver. Nobody had known that dad was suicidal.
Then Mum decided to get remarried to Stepdad. His name is Sam or some shite. I call him Stepdad. I did.
All Sam does is be a bitch and is all buddy-buddy with Max. I guess he has reason to. Max is perfect, and I'm kind of proud of that.
When mum would work the night shift, before she married Stepdad, I would stay at home with Max and tell him all about the world.
He's probably forgotten though.

Mum changed after she married Stepdad. She wasn't nice anymore. She made us all vegan and enlisted me in a performing arts school.
Damn, I hate the cello.
I know where I come from, but no idea where I'm going.
I like that.

Description
The world is this sick machine, it's breeding a mass of shite.

I should know. I'm Eliza. I'm 19.
Any more you need to know? Of course you do. You're like everyone else.
You ask and ask and ask and ask.
"Why did you chop off all your beautiful hair?"
"What do you mean, you're leaving?!"
"You can't make it on your own, especially in Europe!"
"You come here, missy!"

But I can't hear you anymore. I rev the engine, check if my suitcases are in the back seat, and smile resentfully at my little brother Max.
Max is 9, poor kid.
Mum and Stepdad look at me like the want to rip my head off. I think they have plenty reasons.
But I can explain later.
Or why not now? It's a long way to the airport.

I was born an accident. My pop, my real dad, would always tell me he'd take me to Britain when I was old enough.
That's before he killed himself through his liver. Nobody had known that dad was suicidal.
Then Mum decided to get remarried to Stepdad. His name is Sam or some shite. I call him Stepdad. I did.
All Sam does is be a bitch and is all buddy-buddy with Max. I guess he has reason to. Max is perfect, and I'm kind of proud of that.
When mum would work the night shift, before she married Stepdad, I would stay at home with Max and tell him all about the world.
He's probably forgotten though.

Mum changed after she married Stepdad. She wasn't nice anymore. She made us all vegan and enlisted me in a performing arts school.
Damn, I hate the cello.
I know where I come from, but no idea where I'm going.
I like that.