| You flush a fish down a toilet
|
| And look down to see your
|
| Second hand is dead still
|
| You think them somehow connected
|
| But you can’t be sure and it’s
|
| Just as well
|
| What to do next when the shit piles up?
|
| You can’t decide, you go outside
|
| Stand in the moonlight drinking coffee from a paper cup
|
| You’d almost swear you hear voices
|
| But you know it’s nothing but
|
| A noisy, guilty conscience
|
| You hear monotonous noises
|
| It’s that time of night
|
| It’s so predictable
|
| Oh what a feeling to listen to your blood
|
| The way it feels, when it congeals
|
| Like someone sucked you dry and pumped you full of rocks and mud
|
| Close your eyes
|
| No traffic, in or out
|
| Tired eyes
|
| No traffic, in or out
|
| You won’t decide anything tonight
|
| No need to rush things, they’ll keep
|
| Until tomorrow
|
| Just make a fresh pot of coffee
|
| And stay up all night and get
|
| Nothing done
|
| Don’t you hate preference, I know
|
| You hate choice
|
| Just hang your limbs
|
| Out in the wind
|
| And clear your throat because you don’t know when you’ll need your voice
|
| You hope it won’t be long before
|
| You’re back in the action like a moth around a light bulb, but
|
| Who gets to say when the switch flips
|
| And the light goes off and you
|
| Fly away
|
| You could be standing and watching city lights
|
| But where you’ll be is where you’ll be
|
| And what you do is up to you
|
| Stand still you’ve got the right
|
| Close your eyes
|
| No traffic, in or out
|
| Tired eyes
|
| No traffic, in or out
|
| I think I see the East, I think I see the East
|
| And as I face the East, I swear I taste the East
|
| I’ve got to go back, I’ve got to go back East
|
| Where there’s no traffic, in or out |