the city has sex with itself i suppose
as the concrete collides, the scenery grows
and the lonely once bandaged lay fully exposed
having exposed their wounds for each other
and there is a boy in a basement with a four track machine
he�s been strumming and screaming all night, down there
the tape hiss will cover the words that he sings
but then they say it�s better to bury your sadness
in a graveyard or garden that waits for the spring to awake from its sleep
and burst into green
and i�ve cried and you would think i would better for it
but the sadness just sleeps and it stays in your spine
for the rest of your life
and i�ve learned and you�d think i�d be something more now,
but it just goes to show it is not what you know
its what you were thinking at the time.
this feeling�s familiar, i�ve been here before
in a kitchen this quiet i waited for a sign or just something
that might reassure me of anything close to meaning or motion (with a reason
to move)
i need something i want to be close to
and i scream, but i still don�t know why i do it
because the sound never stays it just swells and decays
so what is the point?
why try to fight what is now so certain?
the truth is all that i am is a passing event that will be
forgotten.