I've lost myself to noises
uttered mindless in my drunkenness,
but what was spoken I cannot even say.
For now's the morning after
and the undertaker's laughter
reminds me that I'm not worth
the sweat he lost to dig the grave.
I could lie and say I'm fine,
but the truth would stay the same,
'cause I'm incapable of tryin'
when everything I do is lost in vain.
There's always someone better,
someone bolder, someone smarter,
someone committed to their arrogance
that makes you think they know the way.
I know that I don't know
the inner workings of my soul,
and my body's slowly rusting
like a clock out in the cold.
I could cry out to the heavens
but my calls would be ignored,
for they're too busy flowing sweetly
through the kings and crooked dealings,
spreading like illusions on the floor.
I think I've withered in the sunlight,
dying for relief, for someone who knows
the hidden, hopeful things to say.
Things that lift you by your spirit
so your heart can know and feel it
and, love, I know that someone isn't me.