One Hand Busy

Yeah Darren's awake Both hands busy Unfortunately Basement glow like a nuclear light Curtains sealed, it's permanently night Thirty-four but he's rent-free stuck Upstairs mum yelling "what the fuck Half-eaten chips in a keyboard grave Energy drink so his wrist can behave Monitor flicker, incognito king Jerking his rod like it owes him something "Just five more minutes," he always says Turns into four times, turns into five in a day Laundry pile look like ancient art Crusty as hell and falling apart Tissue mountain by the side of the chair Mum don't come down and she don't dare No job call, no morning rush Just one hand on his cock and a constant flush Lights stay off Blind stays down Darren don't stop 'Til he hears mum moving around Darren in the basement, crown on his head Jerking his rod 'til his arm is dead Cheeto dust kingdom, soda flat He says "I'll change soon" imagine that Darren in the basement, headset on tight Beating his meat every single night Thirty-four years, no exit plan Just a one-man-band PC fans sound like a jet taking off Drowning out sounds he'd rather keep soft Tab minimised when he hears a creak Yanking his dick like five days a week Mum calls down, "Darren, you alright He's very much busy just not how she'd like Door stays locked, chair rolls back Lotion bottle with the label cracked Pizza boxes stacked like a fallen wall One hand on his rod and that's fucking all Grinding ranked matches in between Wiping his hands and clearing his screen Wrist on fire, fingers numb Another session done, another tissue gone Every load blame the stress or fate Three times before it's even eight Lights stay off Clock don't tick Darren don't stop Mid-fucking-wank for shit Darren in the basement, crown on his head Jerking his rod 'til his arm is dead Cheeto dust kingdom, soda flat He says "I'll change soon" imagine that Darren in the basement, headset on tight Beating his meat every single night Thirty-four years, no exit plan Just a one-man-band One day he says he'll get it together One day he says "just bad weather But the router hums like a lullaby And the search history would make a grown man cry No sunrise hits that room no more Just incognito tabs and a locked basement door Time don't matter when the screen feels real And his right arm's built like fucking steel Now and then he hears life upstairs Laughter, arguments, open air He pauses… wipes his hand on the chair Pulls up another tab like he don't care Keyboard sticky for more than one reason Been jerking his cock through every season Mum stops asking after a while Just leaves food by the bottom stair tile He used to say he'd move next year Same sentence, same chair, same atmosphere Now it's just tabs and loading screens And a sock collection nobody's seen Darren in the basement, crown on his head Jerking his rod 'til his arm is dead Cheeto dust kingdom, soda flat He says "I'll change soon" imagine that Darren in the basement, headset on tight Beating his meat every single night Thirty-four years, no exit plan Just a one-man-band "Yo bro I'm just lagging "One more game then I'll sort my life out "...One more tab "...One more …Queue found