Morning breaks over the Midwest.

A silent, lonely porch swing rocking,

The television glows.

Another night spent crumbling,

Just listening to you moan.

You monkey with a microphone. 

Your redundant, useless voice

Constantly a dull and distant noise.



You're just screaming into the wind.

You're just screaming into the wind.



I'm focusing my hate.

But it's hollow, unsubstantiated.

You're an easy mark,

And I just need a target right now. 

I can't face myself.

I can't honestly own up to who I am.



I'm just screaming into the wind.

I'm just screaming into the wind.

Guilt is relative.

So is sin.

It makes it easy to pretend.



A bicycle is humming and it's carrying me home.

The sun is red and headed for the west.

I'm finding ways to rearrange me.

I should be content, but I'm still terrified

Cause I can't tell a realization, a rationalization, or nostalgia from regret. 



Oh no.



I'm just screaming into the wind.

I'm just screaming into the wind.

Guilt is relative.

So is sin.

It makes it easy to pretend.