lyrics
Can I speak a moment frankly, like you’re not supposed to speak?
I am scared to death of nothing, and I am living week to week,
and all the plastic people here are dancing on my feet,
and the stirofoaming music floods the room with muffled heat.
Isn’t there a place where I could just sit down?
The mornings run together, and I wonder if I’ve drowned.
They begin with someone knocking till the neighbors come around.
The busy streets are dull repeats of every other town,
where everything is moving, and I cannot slow it down.
Isn’t there a place where I could just lie down?
Time is standing up on its end.
I am at the edge and looking down.
Flying down the mountain on a sled,
looking for a way to turn this thing around.
Does anybody know how to turn this thing around?
Isn’t there a place where I could just lie down?
It isn’t the disappearing as if never having been:
I used to be the nothing, and I’d get used to it again.
But it’s all the stupid hoping, building up, that I can’t stand,
when nothing, least of all myself, will end the way I’ve planned.
And however strong, you are a leaf out snapping in the breeze.
However well you feel, you know you still have this disease.
It’s a thing that keeps on coming some direction you can’t see,
and never far enough away to put yourself at ease.
They say it does no good to thrash around.
This is just the way we drown.
The thing about a story is that you can tell it all again,
and I guess you threw a party to forget the way it ends,
and I didn’t mean to bring you down, or scare away your friends,
but I need someplace to talk and drink, and I can always still pretend,
or I could walk around all night and bang my head against the wind.
This is all the wisdom I have found.
credits
license
all rights reserved