A lady is tuning a guitar in a darkened room, one lightbulb above her. A handsome man runs his fingers over the piano keys. They smile at each other and begin to play, their voices mixing as one.
If you've been kicked in or abused or mistreated or misused.
You were told there was nowhere to go but up for you.
If you've been hurt or you've been betrayed.
If you've been fucked or you've been displaced.
Then you were told it's probably been your fault anyway.
But your Hustler subscription or your Xanax prescription make you feel lonelier instead.
You don't want to hear about all the starving children.
You don't want to be told it's all in your head.
Cuz if it's all in your head,
I saw a junkie laying in a puddle of his own blood last week,
I saw a cyclist get hit by a car.
I saw a homeless guy chug a bottle of mouthwash on Christmas eve.
No, you can never fall too far.
You can by a Salad Glove and you can by an iPod.
You can sell that shit to Bookmans when your wife dies and you lose your job
and you can hope it gets better and you can follow your dreams
but hope is for presidents and dreams are for people who are sleeping.
My friend Erin says it best, "we're all two or three bad decisions away
from becoming the ones we fear and pity"
and Tony says it's important to bear some witness when you can
that’s not hard to do in the city that I live in
You don't have it any better.
you don't have it any worse.
You're an irreplaceable human soul with your own understanding of what it means to suffer.
And that’s a huge
the piano is shut, the lights turned off.