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I have a friend, he's mostly made of pain |
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He wakes up, drives to work and straight back home again |
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He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper |
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I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover |
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And I tried to tell him that he had a sense |
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Of color and composition so magnificent |
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And he said thank you, please, but your flattery |
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It is truly not becoming me |
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Your eyes are poor, you're blind, you see |
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No beauty ever could have come from me |
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I'm a waste |
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Of breath, of space, of time |
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I knew a woman she was dignified and true |
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Her love for her man was one of her many virtues |
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Until one day she found out that he had lied |
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And decided the rest of her life from that point on would be a lie |
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She was grateful for everything that had happened |
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And she was anxious for all that would come next |
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But then she wept, what did you expect |
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In that big old house with the cars she kept |
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Such is life, she often said |
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With one day leading to the next |
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You get a little closer to your death |
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Which was fine with her, she never got upset |
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And with all the days she may have left |
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She would never clean another mess |
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Or fold his shirts, or look her best |
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She was free |
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To waste away alone |
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Last night my brother, he got drunk and drove |
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And this cop, he pulled him off to the side of the road |
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And he said officer, officer, you've got the wrong man |
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No, no, I'm a student of medicine, a son of a banker, you don't understand |
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The cop said No one got hurt, you should be thankful |
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And your carelessness, it is something awful |
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And no I can't just let you go |
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And though your father's name is known |
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Your decisions now are yours alone |
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You're nothing but a stepping stone on a path |
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To debt, to loss, to shame |
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The last few months I've been living with this couple |
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Yeah, you know the kind who buy everything in doubles |
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Yeah, they fit together like a puzzle |
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I love their love and I am thankful |
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That someone actually receives the prize that was promised |
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By all those fairy tales that drugged us |
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And still do me I'm sick, lonely |
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No laurel tree, just green envy |
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Will my number come up eventually |
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Like love's some kind of lottery |
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Where you scratch and see what's underneath |
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It's sorry |
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Just one cherry |
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I'll play again, get lucky |
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So now I hang out down by the train's depot |
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No, I don't ride, I just sit and watch the people there |
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They remind me of wind-up cars in motion |
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The way they spin and turn and jockey for positions |
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And I wanna scream out that it all is nonsense |
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Their life's one track and can't they see it's pointless? |
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But just then my knees give under me |
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My head feels weak and suddenly |
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It's clear to see, it's not them, but me |
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Who's lost my self-identity |
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As I hide behind these books I read |
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While scribbling my poetry |
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Like art could save a wretch like me |
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With some ideal ideology |
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That no one could hope to achieve |
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And I'm never real, it's just a sketch of me |
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And everything I've made is trite and cheap and a waste |
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Of paint |
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Of tape |
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Of time |
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So I park my car down by the cathedral |
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Where the floodlights point up at the steeples |
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Choir practice is filling up with people |
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I hear the sound escaping as an echo |
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Sloping off the ceiling at an angle |
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When the voices blend they sound like angels |
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I hope there's some room still in the middle |
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But when I lift my voice up now to reach them |
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The range is too high way up in heaven |
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So I hold my tongue, forget the song |
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Tie my shoes, start walking off |
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And try to just keep moving on |
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With my broken heart and my absent god |
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And I have no faith but it's all I want |
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To be loved |
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And believe |
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In my soul, in my soul |
