Still miserable after all these hours, somebody please grant me superhuman powers to finish the worn-out years that I’ve started, to build my life’s work out of what you discarded, to run down the tracks, catch your train that’s departed, to remember the song in my head when I parted from you. Some song always reminds me of you. And if I don’t start pretending that I’m starting to care, I’ll start to believe I don’t want to be there with you, and I don’t know if that’s the truth.

Just cleaned the barrel of my favorite revolver, just want you to see me as an involver, just want you to be able to depend on someone who is me but who isn’t a friend, someone whose hope flows on without end, who snaps when they fasten and breaks when they bend around you. I crack when I wrap around you. And if I don’t start pretending that I’m starting to care, I’ll start to believe I don’t want to be there with you, and I’m afraid that that’s the truth.

Stupid, uprooted, and most of all polluted, tired of being the batteries not included and selling myself to some overlord master who lurks in the walls underneath the cracked plaster. The radio’s on and the beat rises faster, till a sudden explosion and my mind’s already past her for you, and unforeseen visions of you. And if I don’t start pretending that I’m starting to care, I’ll start to believe I don’t want to be there with you, and I wonder if I really do. I wonder if I ever knew.