here you are again, breaking pencils against paper that won't yield shit
you've lost your focus, he's funnier than you, plays guitar better than you ever will
and just as another line refuses to be written, the lights begin to dim
and you lose any hope of finding your way to the door
trip over your desk, or maybe it's just your severed head
lying where it belongs, completing the metaphor, you've lost your head, get it?
the windows fly open and the blinds slam shut, city's turning it's back on you
and turning around and back and through but never towards you
here you are now, lying on your back on a dirty rug, ever smoked a cigarette?
things were simpler back when your friends smoked cigarettes
but things aren't simple with her and him and she but never quite 'we'
it's been a week but you're freaking and terrified of losing what you'll never have again
hold on tight to that rug, cause it looks like you're ascending
to the room above, where people are fucking
through again, above that, why's she crying?
too late now, you're above it all and it's cold, it's cold and it's beautiful
and it's all so much it hurts
and as your blood slows and thickens you take one last look and you see