lately i've been thinking about my old life, the one i used to live. i was always trying to get the room to spin. and i can't tell you why but i fell for the lie. and it was a way to cope, but the steepest slope and once i began to fall it wasn't my call. and you screamed to take a life preserver, i called back that it was nice to know you, but i'd rather be twice the deserter that have unfulfilled ambitions and old sedated wishes. and you store yours in the attic, but it's more than being phatic, we've lived the same life and you can blame strife but even if it was all apathetic, i can't say that i regret it. i know you never will, you could live a hundred lives and repeat all your mistakes, with vivid memories of what happened every time before.
and i'm like an alley cat leaving gifts on your porch, any excuse to come into the warmth. i sleep under cars, and beside bars. i hide my face from perfect strangers. but sometimes after i've cried for hours about feeling like i have nothing and nobody, i feel like i'm floating. for a couple days after i carry myself better, its like i shelf the depression. and the present is a must-have, sorta seize-the-moment-or-else type of bit, but i'm still not believing it, it's some freakin' shit. don't get me wrong, i'll give you the right. paint a still life and try not to think of me.
listen dear, i'm closer than you think. out here on the streets all the free time i have makes everything feel so close.
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