there's a certain music to crying
a steady tempo in the organs as they shake
the bass drops with the shaky hands
your heart as i run you like a treadmill
boom boom
that's the chorus

the background music as it plays and plays
you can’t turn it off

it's too loud
not loud enough

the steady drip drop drip drop of tears as they fall over everything
your hands as they shake
i can feel them through the cheap plastic of the phone
it’s the best kind of conductor

everything is shaking
the speakers are turned up too loud

Hotel California
is my recording studio
where i go to **** my friends
burn all my bridges
the flames make my eyes sting
and my nose run
this pillow is too hard
but nothing is really soft, is it?
everything is rough and tough and western
old cowboy movies in sepia
the kind that my daddy watched
the kind he filled his mind and body with
life is dust and steel and gunshots
senselessness
under all the glamour
there's nothing
just sharp edges and loud music 

so much snot
how am i still secreting it
i thought it would have run out by now
after years and years and tears and tears I should be dry by now

i'm just a record machine
spitting hits back up as I wobble on unsteady pegs

i scream out the Eagles like nobodies business
i bleed lyrics and drip smooth jazz

i’m a music machine 
this little number is one of my own
i call it "what have i done"

will you hold my sheet music close to you?
sleep with it under your pillow? 
keep it balled in the bottom of your pocket?
or will it be pawned off to the highest bidder?
i weave my anthem and you absorb every word
mine
yours 
ours now
our music
don't let it float away dear