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]