Try to understand why I've got you on the phone
It’s the last week of classes, the week before finals, and every one’s in a bad mood.
It’s kind of funny, or – it would be funny if I weren’t in a bad mood.
I should go around telling people that everything’s going be okay like Donnie Darko, but I think that would require me believing it.
Rows and rows of houses,
with windows painted blue,
with the light from the TV,
running parrallel to you.
I wish I were doing something else.
This is spelled f-u-n-k. A week where nothing gets done and everything needs to get done and you let people down for no reason except that you did and, hell, you decide you’re lonely because you are and people ask you if you’re doing okay because you look a little down.
If there is no sunken treasure
rumored to be
wrapped inside my ribs
in a sea black with ink . . .
I am so
out of tune . . .
Of course I’m doing okay.
Or I will be in a few days. What goes down must come up, right? Right?
Music is my savior
and I was named by Rock and Roll . . .