I've buried a body, fingered Jess, and cooked a thanksgiving turkey.
I snorted a line, took a hit, and things are still a bit murky.

I've read the Bible, a little of Kant, and I've stared into the abyss.
Followed the moon all the way home, and something's still amiss.

I've listened to Bach while making her come as she looked into my eyes. And still I sit here wondering about unnecessary lies.

I thought by now there'd be a pattern, that in some way it'd all make sense.
That if I went ahead and experienced things, I wouldn't care about the tense.

So I jumped off a bridge, have had a few drinks, rescued a young opossum.
And I've had a few nice thoughts about that **** Emmy Rossum.

Maybe I've seen and done the things and people I was meant to be.
Though I know it never was or ever will be me.