and happy nagiiba day to these fucks

Everyone's got their endgame out while i've been left behind everyone has a motive in mind while I keep searching about Everyone has the motive that moves their motivation towards a moment they've molded while I'm left behind still making up my mind what's my modus operandi? The christian's have their heaven the vegans have their animal kin the conservatives have their strict laws the liberals have their grubby claws what do I have going for me? a pursuit with no clear goal a answer I've yet to know what is my M.O. Everyone's got their lot in life while I'm in circles with no aim everyone's has their niche to gain while I'm constantly worked with rife Everyone has their motives that mobilizes their morality into monoliths they've molded while I'm in pursuit with no goal still finding the bottom in a endless hole what's my M.O.? The sjw's have their moral hegemony the mormons have their polygamy the republicans have their guns the democrats have their fun what do I have going for me? no reward or trophy to seize a respite I never truly please what is my modus operandi? No college degree in a dead end job writing repeatedly to a silent mob camera pictures forgotten easily my personal fixtures changed feasibly where is the light at the end of this abyss i can't seem to find spinning in circles running pillar to deathbed for the motive in this game of life Everyone's got it figured through while I'm indecisive to my plans everyone's juggling the things in their hands while I'm scrambling on just a few Everyone has that motive that molts their mortality into their motto they've molded while I'm looking for a reward to seize still tirelessly spread thin for reprieve where is my modus operandi? The religious have their script and god the communities have their own nods the parties have their wasting away the ideologies have their own say what do I have going for me? a portfolio of promises broken a pamphlet of nothing beholden what is my M.O. in this world? I can't always just live by my own means some point I must set in stone what I deem the same poems written for yucks my old omens i don't give any fucks where is the pedestal on this perilous event where I can crown my success in the things I once frowned upon in order to make a motive out of this I keep moping morosely staying morbidly the same mortified by my moments I can't mold still searching for rewards yet to be seen still finding secrets behind the scenes still tirelessly making a motive out of this M.O. What is my modus operandi to perilously mope moments into motes until my mortality takes me moving still mostly as I mobilize my M.O. my M.O. what is my motive in all this?