• The future has got me worried with such awful thoughts.

    My head is a carousel of pictures.

    The spinning never stops.

    I just want someone to walk in front and I'll follow the leader.

    Like when I fell under the weight of a schoolboy crush.

    Started carrying her books and doing lots of drugs.

    I almost forgot who I was, but came to my senses.

    Now I'm tryin' to be assertive.

    I'm making plans.

    Wanna rise to the occasion,

    yet meet all of their demands.

    But all I do is just lay in bed

    and hide under the covers.

    I know I should be brave

    but I'm just too afraid of all this change.

    And it's too hard to focus through all this doubt.

    I keep making these "To Do" lists but nothing gets crossed out.

    Working on the record seems pointless now.

    When the world ends, who's gonna hear it?

    But Im tryin' and take some comfort in written words,
    yeah my friend I heard your album and it's better than good.

    When you get off tour I think we should hang and black out together.

    Because I've been feeling sentimental for days gone by...

    all those summers singing, drinking, laughing, wasting out time.

    Remember all those songs and the way we smiled in those basements made of music.

    But now I've got to crawl, to get anywhere at all. I'm not as strong as I thought.

    So when I'm lost in a crowd,

    I hope that you'll pick me out.

    Oh, how I long to be found.

    The grass grew high. I laid down.

    Now I wait for a hand to lift me up, help me stand. I have been laying so low

    Don't want to lay here anymore.

    But if everything that happens is supposed to be

    and it is predetermined, can't change your destiny.

    Then I guess I'll just keep moving, someday, maybe, I'll get to where I'm going.

    I have a friend, he's mostly made of pain.

    He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper.

    I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a picture.

    And I tried to tell him he had a sense of color and composition so magnificent.

    And he said "Thank you, please but your flattery is truly not becoming me...
    Your eyes are poor. You are blind. You see, no beauty could have come from me...

    . . .I am a waste of breath, of space, of time."

    I knew a woman, she was dignified and true. Her love for her man was one of her many virtues.

    Until one day, she found out that he had lied and she decided the rest of her life, from that point on would be a lie.

    But she was grateful for everything that had happened.


    And she was anxious for all that would come next. But then she wept.

    What did you expect? In that big, old house with the cars she kept. "Oh!" and "such is life," she often said.

    With one day leading to the next, you get a little closer to your death, which was fine with her.

    She never got upset and with all the days she may have left,

    would never clean another mess or fold his shirts or look her best.

    She was free to waste away alone.

    As I hide behind these books I read, while scribbling my poetry, like art could save a wretch like me.

    with some ideal ideology that no one can hope to achieve. And I am never real; it is just a sketch of me.

    And everything I made is trite and cheap...

    ...and a waste of paint, of tape, of time.

    I hold my tongue, forget the song, tie my shoe and start walking off.

    And try to just keep moving on, with my broken heart and my absent God.

    and I have no faith but it is all I want, to be loved and believe in my soul, in my soul...