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
|
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 accouterments
|
These shoes, these scars, these shirts, these ties
|
And these things I say to make myself feel good again
|
I'll speak, I'll write, I'll laugh, I'll lie
|
I can't bear to sit here and drink myself sick again
|
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 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
|
|
-----------------
|
This Is Nowhere
|
The Airborne Toxic Event |