| Second intermission
|
| Anticipation
|
| You know the third act
|
| Small talk drops out of the play
|
| You’re standing in the lobby
|
| Tightening your tourniquet
|
| Waiting for it
|
| Waiting for it
|
| And then the bell sounds
|
| And the lights flash
|
| And there’s all these questions milling around
|
| And there’s no time to ask
|
| No bliss for little miss leading
|
| She’s learning about bleeding
|
| But what is love if not exquisite?
|
| Our only saving grace or is it?
|
| And somewhere inside your iris
|
| Blooms the reflection of my surprise
|
| As you stroll past every last do not enter
|
| And touch me at my epicenter
|
| And the bell sounds
|
| And the lights flash
|
| And there’s all these questions milling around
|
| And there’s no time to ask
|
| I’m always trying to get there
|
| I never really get there
|
| To that quiet place where i accept myself
|
| Instead i’m deep inside some high school
|
| Locker room no clothing
|
| Popping the zits of my self-loathing under fluorescent lights
|
| And the bell sounds
|
| And the lights flash
|
| And there’s all these questions milling around
|
| And you’re too ashamed to ask
|
| Second intermission
|
| Anticipation
|
| You know the third act
|
| Small talk drops out of the play
|
| You’re standing in the lobby
|
| Tightening your tourniquet
|
| Waiting for it
|
| Waiting for it |