i'm hanging on
and loathing life
outside this sleeping town
outside this shiftless menagerie
and they're crying that their paint peels
they're cigar store indians
and they're crying that their paint fades

then in some
insignificant way
when your eyes went open
we saw
the streets in a different light
i saw you weep with a different cry
and on those tears swelled
lonely scenes
that i forgot that
it could never mean me
was important
but not right then
not at the time
but not right then
but not at the time
but not right then