| With a mind all twisted up
|
| And an appearance mostly undone
|
| I drove out to your party
|
| With those Christmas drags full on
|
| Maybe I’ll get to explain again
|
| A life they just won’t ever get
|
| And they can float those quiet judgements
|
| On thin smiles of regret
|
| Nodding into my drink in a slowly numbing hand
|
| My thoughts are far, they’re in some shitty bar
|
| I see a stage without a band
|
| That PA hum, it’s a siren song
|
| Yeah, that feedback calling up
|
| Somebody’s gotta break that stage in two
|
| Why shouldn’t it be us?
|
| It just might be we get to live another round
|
| Maybe this all ain’t building up
|
| To some hole dug in the ground
|
| Mayb a next life they’ll wir me right
|
| And I can keep it on the path
|
| And maybe we’re only living on
|
| In digital photographs
|
| Stuffing clothes in my bag
|
| You look good laid across the bed
|
| But you’re talking fancy restaurants
|
| And galvanized five-year plans
|
| I know you need a TV and a washing machine
|
| But girl you got to realize
|
| You’re ain’t the only one with dreams
|
| It just might be we get to live another round
|
| Maybe this all ain’t building up
|
| To some hole dug in the ground
|
| Maybe a next life they’ll wire me right
|
| And I can keep it on the path
|
| And maybe we’re only living on
|
| In digital photographs
|
| We’re only victims of wild desire
|
| In an endless heart attack
|
| And maybe the light we’ve seen as gone
|
| It just keeps on coming back
|
| And maybe we’re only seeing the spaces
|
| Of digital photographs |