possessions never meant anything to me

i'm not crazy

well, that's not true i've got a bed,

and a guitar and a dog named bob who pisses on my floor

that's right, i've got a floor

so what?

i've got pockets pull of kleenex and lint and holes

where everything important to me

just seems to fall right down my leg

and onto the floor

my cloest friend linoleum

linoleum supports my head

gives me something to believe

that's me on the beach side combing the sand

metal meter in my hand

sporting a pocket full of change

that's me on the street with a violin under my chin

playing with a grin

singing gibberish

that's me on the back of the bus

that's me in the cell

that's me inside you head

that's me inside your head

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