We create wheel barrows full of sound for it to be dumped into a black hole: 

the bottomless abyss of bi-polar disorders 

A broken abacus down to good times 

Someone please write a post-it note to remind me why I'm doing this 

and when to pay the cable bill 

Won't talk about the cage, it's been touched on too much 

Besides, I'm seeing dead whales all too often 

which in itself is rather frightening 

Sad how bad times make good music 

Hope I can maintain this great depression 

and leave myself guessing if I can out do the former until the end 

We're all waiting for the payoff.. 

I have one, they have none, so I'm feeling rather lucky and guilty at the 

same time 



We all whistle a salty tune to ourselves for the world to hear 

and when it's time to capture memories 

the closest thing to a smile we can muster is a sneer 

And giving blood, sweat, and tears in exchange for cold sweat 

and fears is only equal to a tickled throat for so long 

So the songs lose excitement and loops become grating 

My being is scarred up and I can't keep myself from picking 

We turn pages and fight sore hands 

ADD addicts of abrasiveness joyriding through the same scene over and over 

Time and time again I'm asking myself why 

but I'm proud of the dust of twenty cities irritating my eyes 

"All for what?" loops in my head 

I ain't fessin' 'til I'm dead or until everything is said 

She has bouquets of poppies spilling from her heart 

and I'm stuck here tapping my pen on my pad of paper wondering where to start 

I suppose this comes with the process and problems, getting by 

three reasons to do this: her, them, and I 



[Chorus:] 

Kicking myself, standing on the edge with a dumb look on, snapping out of it 

asking, "what are you doing?" 

Kicking myself, standing on the edge with a dumb look on, snapping out of it 

asking, "what are you thinking?" 

Kicking myself, standing on the edge with a dumb look on, snapping out of it 

asking, "where are you going?" 

Kicking myself, standing on the edge with a dumb look on, snapping out of it 

asking, "why?" 



On overcast days, I'm at one with myself 

but perhaps I should take advice from bumper stickers 

But seeing old guitarists on their farm with their children reminscing 

is that feeling that I'm missing from almost a year ago 

Back then, it was all about looking through the bullet holes and sighing 

Now it's snapping my fingers at Linus and smiling 

I guess it takes hard times to curl my fingers, not a fist 

but around this blue flex-grip asking, "do you think...?" 

Select a question to be answered in words that are next to nothing 

that's how I kept my sanity in the first half 

I feel like someone is passing hula-hoops down the length of my body 

yet the theater seats are empty, yet I still hear that laugh 

It takes a power outage to muster creativity 

just like tragedies and the commerce on the Stars and Stripes 

Who am I to say? I have problems getting a blank page moving 

just one of my insecurities that I suppose will come and go today 

All I can hear are the drums I search for 

that might be why the pens are mute at this point 

Sole says, "it's rubies and rabies," 

and lately I've been foaming at the mouth 

Can't put my finger on why 

my sleeves are sopping wet with possiblys and maybes 

This is the part where I repeat the last two lines 

of the song before the chorus to drive across my point 

This is the part where I repeat the last two lines 

of the song before the chorus to drive across my point? 



[Chorus]