| Come home and my guitar
|
| Has nothin to say to me
|
| I recoil from all my friends
|
| And then I’m in misery
|
| Been so long since I’ve been held
|
| Really since I was his
|
| Probably just need to be held
|
| That’s probably all it is
|
| Course, then I think of my dad
|
| Who time travels mostly now
|
| Back to when he was free
|
| And holding out hope somehow
|
| Who sits all day in a line
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| Of wheelchairs against a wall
|
| Inventing ways to play out time
|
| Like us all
|
| Like us all
|
| To all the people out there tonight
|
| Who are comforting themselves
|
| If you should happen to see my light
|
| You can stop and ring my bell
|
| I’m just sittin here in this sty
|
| Strewn with half written songs
|
| Taking one breath at a time
|
| Nothin much going on
|
| Nothin much going on
|
| Little flashing zero
|
| On my answering machine
|
| Rats scratching at my brain
|
| Brain shuffling its feet
|
| Yes I have my father’s heart
|
| It may or may not keep on trying
|
| Can’t really tell you what it is
|
| Keeps me this side of that dark line
|
| But I’m not there to take care of him
|
| And I’m not here to take care of me
|
| I’m going outside to watch the house burn down
|
| Across the street
|
| I’m going outside to watch the house burn down
|
| Across the street
|
| To all the people out there tonight
|
| Who are comforting themselves
|
| If you should happen to see my light
|
| You can stop and ring my bell
|
| I’m just sitting here in this sty
|
| Strewn with half written songs
|
| Taking one breath at a time
|
| Nothin much going on |