shut out, pimpled and angry. 
i quietly tied all my guts into knots. 
gave up on trying to make them, 
i figured it'd take them too long to look up and besides... 

it was undeniably clear to me i don't know why 
when every other part of life seemed locked behind shutters 
i knew what worthless dregs we all are then. 

lucked out and found my favorite records 
lying in wait at the birmingham mall. 
the songs the i heard, 
the occasional book 
were the only fun i ever took. 
and i got on with making myself. 
the trick is just making yourself. 

but when they're parking their cars on your chest 
you've still got a view of the summer sky 
to make it hurt twice when your restless body 
caves to its whims 
and suddenly struggles to take flight... 

three thousand miles north east 
i left all my friends at the morning bus stop shaking their heads. 
"what kind of life you dream of? you're allergic to love." 
yes i know but i must say in my own defense 
it's been undeniable dear to me, i don't know why 
when every other part of life seemed locked behind shutters 
i knew the worthless dregs we are, 
the selfless, loving saints we are, 
the melting, sliding dice we've always been.