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We all sit on the curb |
|
And we stare at the rain in our boots |
|
The car, the clouds, the sky |
|
While Ishmael wraps himself in the sheet again |
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He'll clench the fists and close his eyes |
|
I don't know how many times |
|
I can loan him my cigarettes |
|
When I don't even know if he's alive |
|
Do prophets lie? |
|
It makes me feel less horrified |
|
And my closet's filled with |
|
All these endless accoutrements |
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These shoes, these scars |
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These shirts, these ties |
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And these things |
|
I say to make myself feel good again |
|
I'll speak, |
|
I'll write, |
|
I'll laugh, |
|
I'll lieI can't bear to sit here and drink myself sick again |
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Another night |
|
When everything |
|
I know was just a lie |
|
And I don't even know where |
|
I'll sleep tonight |
|
I got nothing to do but stare at these walls |
|
And take some time to screw my head on right |
|
We all ended up alone, wasted here at |
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Silver Lake |
|
We'll work, we'll feed, we'll change, we'll try |
|
I can't make any sense of this or you or anything |
|
I'm wide awake, and all our parents lied |
|
It's not alright, and all our words collide |
|
Awake all night |
