i left the tall, white hospital without waving goodbye
it was the one that i was born in
and it is where i will die
and my eyes went blind before they even saw the floor
and my father's closing yet another open back door

i left my dying mother in a waiting room
now i'm deploying my men
and i'm raising a glass
for pedaling tricycles (through)
scattering tylenol
elevated eye lids (while)
burying little kids

and now you're lying on the living room floor
with one hand on your chest and another against the door
and if the sound of traffic keeps you safe at night
what is it doing now?
your parents aren't always right

i thought a lot last night under a spit-stained comforter
about lying and deciding which road deserves to be died on
and i came to the decision that i just have to stop listening
and i want my ashes on a freeway between san fransisco and los angeles

i left the cafeteria with a noisy sigh
one that closes my eyes and makes room for my all my lies:
"i never thought i'd see so you happy
and your smile makes me a little bit angry"

it's been a long time
since the ceiling
at the top of my mind fell through
you're the last thing
i could say
to the officious funeral survey
they still tell me
how to behave
but it's sunday
and my window won't display
concrete evidence
that everything
is and always will be okay

and i might have to go to sleep
without brushing my teeth
without a mattress under me
without pity or humility
i know what i want in my life
and i know that it's not written on pages of textbooks
or printed on the sides of city buses
or left at my door every single morning

i've heard the squeaking of shopping carts late at night
below my window where the concrete never seems to die
and i'll lie and i'll lie and i will lie
just to bother you, old faithful de ja vous

and i'll spit up your sympathy into some kitchen sink
and i'll bury myself and i'll breath what i think
i won't believe you if you stand with your finger pointed at the sky
and i won't miss you, or ever think of you for the rest of my life

i was sweating with creatures underneath my skin
i was spitting them out just to breathe them back in
and they dont bother me so much anymore
yeah i'm used to it

i don't need help from the shelves of a convienient store

you know there's something to be said
to all the living and the dead
whether you're sleeping on couches
on the side of the street
or maybe rotting away
un der neath
but everything that's insane
will become mundane
now i'm lying dead under a tree
with a letter at my feet
and the sun sinking into me
though i didn't mind the heat
now there aren't any colors here
no, there aren't any colors here