i do this thing where i think i’m real sick. but i won’t go to the doctor to find out about it
cause they make you stay real still in a real small space
as they chart up your insides and put them on display
they’d see all of it, all of me, all of it

oh, you’re almost home.
i’ve been waiting for you to come in.
dancing around in your old suits going crazy in your room again.
i think i’ll go out an embarrass myself by getting drunk and falling down in
the street.
you say i choose sadness, that it never once has chosen me.
maybe you’re right.

it’s all of the good that won’t come out of me
and how eventually my mouth will just turn to dust if i don’t tell you quick.
standing here on this frozen lake.

(all the good that won’t come out)

and sometimes when you’re on
you’re really fuckin on
and your friends they sing along
and they love you
but the lows are so extreme
that the good seems fucking cheap
and it teases you for weeks in its absence
but you’ll fight and you’ll make it through
you’ll fake it if you have to
and you’ll show up for work with a smile
you’ll be better
and you’ll be smarter
and more grown up and a better daughter or son
and a real good friend
and you’ll be awake
you’ll be alert
you’ll be positive though it hurts
and you’ll laugh and embrace all your friends
and you’ll be a real good listener
you’ll be honest
you’ll be brave
you’ll be handsome and you’ll be beautiful
you’ll be happy

(a better son/daughter)

i used to think if i could realize i’d die
then i would be a lot nicer
used to believe in a lot more
now i just see straight ahead

that’s not to say i don’t have good times
but as for my days
i spend them waiting

(science vs. romance)

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