I want to be the surgeon that cuts you open, that fixes all of life’s mistakes. I want to be the house that you were raised in, the only place that you feel safe. I want to be a shower in the morning, that wakes you up and makes you clean. I know I’m just the weather against your window as you sleep through a winter’s dream.
There’s merit in construction when it’s done with your own hands. There’s beauty in destruction, resurrection, another chance. There’s a you and I in union but just an I in our beliefs. There’s a crashing plane with a banner that reads everyone’s naïve
There are no martyrs in resolution. If you remain still, don’t expect restitution. Stand up. You cannot argue with evolution, all we are certain of is death and excuses. Stand up. No worthy icons, no revolution. If you remain seated, expect destitution. Stand up. I am the martyr of evolution. Rather than die, I’ll provoke execution. Stand up.
I’m just a bad actor stuck with a shitty script, all of my lines are cheap and the cast is weak. There was no music for the first time I got kissed, there was no femme fatale, my mistress wasn’t rich. So I’ve been formatted to fit your TV screen, the film went straight to tape, I’ll bow out quietly.
To all my friends who’d rather get high, I’ll be at ground level watching you die. Fuck drugs and fuck straight edge, those are both the fucking things that got the best of my friends. And to all the girls that make it a trend to fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck all of my friends, we’ll all die of the same disease whether you got it in bed or you got it on your knees.
And I fell for the promise of a life with a purpose, but I know that that is impossible now. And so I drink to stay warm and to kill selected memories, because I just can’t think anymore about that or about her tonight. I give myself three days to feel better or I swear I’ll drive right off a fucking cliff. Because if I can’t learn to make myself feel better then how can I expect anyone else to give a shit?
All the trees, all the birds, and this thing called life; I’d stake it all for forty acres and a trophy wife. Dust gathers on the books that contain our past, and we’re but peons in a circuit built by time to last. Repeat, repeat, as we’ve done before. Our history all lost in war. When the last of our cities are but powder and dust, the damned who remain live with God in the glory of us.
“You were impatient, I was a fallback. A dirty mistake, you never called back. You were salvation. I never told you: I always had a notion I would fall in love with you. You were a call girl, I was your gentleman, a faint illusion of your simple plan. I was salvation. You never told me: you always had a notion that you knew what we could be.”
I am a blue blood, I will admit that. I dance in blue shoes and wear a blue hat. Live in a blue house, on a blue street, in a blue town by a blue creek. I write my blue songs with my blue pen. I sing the blue notes to my blue friends. Now I don’t know that much about you, but I like you because you’re true blue.