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the city makes so much noise when you record it |
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the streets have secret voices |
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if they don't shut up your head will get dirty |
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so you block out the hum |
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desensitized, it's not healthy |
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but the city's like a miniture body |
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with miniture versions of our universal problems |
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if i can make dorm rooms and stadiums silent |
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my record, when played, will make the whole world more quiet |
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my ears are wringing |
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things hid in me |
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i want to keep my tissues eye lashes and intestines clean |
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by i can't think |
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open for business! infected! |
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every particle pulled in a separate direction |
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i've got to find a way to keep the voices outside |
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only one holy hunger will i obey or recognize |
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this body's mine as it's owner i seal it |
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let's find out just what this piece of shit is capable of feeling |
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food is disgusting; it's what they make shit from |
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you're vomiting backwards |
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your pores give you cancer |
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i want to make a record instead of taking drugs |
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but with the phone off this room is more quiet than it was |
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i'm so out of breath, ungraceful |
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i'm always running now |
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can't stop chasing |
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there's something inside me that doesn't exist yet |
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i'll need to be aerodynamic to catch it |
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i can't get comfortable in this mess |
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less turn an eye to my blind influence, arrested |
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weighted down by the bullshit my black hole's collected |
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suck it all in: |
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distracted! conflicted! pathetic! |
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but i will make myself into the shape of a weapon |
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i will burn off the fat until i'm all sharp edges |
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convey my main content |
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no nonsense, no questions, no excess |
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i very much prefer an early exit |
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a sensible rebellion |
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the least embarrassing |
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i'm not flailing my fists i'm not coming apart |
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and when my body stops moving i won't be shocked |
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i'll know exactly the cause |
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and just who's at fault |
