| Hurts so bad that you know it’s not sinning.
|
| The funny thing is it’s just beginning to feel good.
|
| And downstairs all your friends are waiting,
|
| they’re talking low and filling their stories with angels,
|
| and they imagine intervening in true crime photos and placing meaning within
|
| them —
|
| from blue to red to black-and-white.
|
| Don’t look too long, you’ll be up all night among them,
|
| the sudden dead. |
| The last thing he said was «You should have been here before
|
| the camera arrived,
|
| maybe I wouldn’t have to die.
|
| But just live out this long life jangling, and as old men you could watch my
|
| hand dangling, cold and white."
|
| Baby,
|
| don’t worry tonight;
|
| I know it’s too ugly to hold yourself upright.
|
| So fill a clean glass, cold and smooth. |
| Take the reds, then take the blues.
|
| Away,
|
| you can hear a voice that’s singing
|
| «angels could come but you wouldn’t believe them, and those that believe still
|
| can’t see them anyway.»
|
| And The Suicide slides out of his skin and he climbs inside of the bed you’re
|
| in and touches your face.
|
| He says «what right had I to die when all these little cells just tried to keep
|
| me alive?
|
| What right had I to leave the human race behind?
|
| Do you really think you’re better, with your shotgun and your suicide letter?
|
| Do you think you’re right?
|
| Well baby, don’t worry tonight,
|
| I know it’s too ugly to hold yourself upright.
|
| There’s a light from the front room
|
| as it’s filling with all of your friends.
|
| It doesn’t get much better than this, and then it ends." |