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.