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no, not nearly enough
meaningful lyrics constantly flow between my ears
reminding me that i only pretend to be that full of insight
i am the life of the party
desperately sick of her image
being funny doesn't cut it anymore
(being serious never did)
this is what waisting a mind can do
leave you shattered
searching
for a meaning in a cracked soul
(that whistles when the wind blows)
i don't want this to be living
passing between moments of
sainthood and the devil made me do it
i'd like to say all the right words
that they come to me like magic
because somehow, i am a magnet for attractive imagery
i am about as hopeful as dr. kavorkian
wishing for a different moment in time
to stash me away and make me something whole
i'd fill these cracks with applesauce
it drips... but it'll do
