Everybody's At The Heart Of The Problem
Everybody's at the heart of the problem. I forget myself sometimes. I'm even losing things I buy moments after buying them. I'm an automatic train and I've got nothing to stop me, just myself. Everybody's at the heart of the problem. It's not your fault. It's never your fault.
Create, succeed and everything inbetween. Told us lies and created a scene. Can't relive the past but you know how these things are. I picture you crashing that very same car over and over again. Hospital bed. Discharge dischord. I'll assume the very worst to ensure the very best. Not that it ever matters. It's not your fault. If we knew who it was other than ourselves than who could it be?
I know it's not your idea of love but we can't take pictures all our life. You wanted the closeness of human kindness but all we got was scarred remains of each other's sanity. It's never too late to change but the effort involved isn't worth it. The more you change, the more you stay exactly the same. Self improvement is antisocial. No amounts, no costs, no fear, no action, satisfaction.
The more you want of something the less you get. For you it's love, for me it's sleep. Nothing gives me more of a thrill than one day waking up and finding out that it's become hibernation and not sleep. I don't get all that trapped intimacy, it's just not for me. You like to get inside when physically and mentally I'd rather hide in my own room. Hide like pharoahs in their tombs.
Everybody's at the heart of the problem. I forget everything and it all comes back. As automatic as they come. As automatic as they get. I go in different directions. A skilled tourist with a will to get lost. Forget cultures, we're here for scenery. Window dressing is high on the agenda. For you there's nothing else but another boy and another reason to feel miserable. The search for perfection continues. A search that is doomed to failure but perhaps worthwhile if you're that interested.
Create, succeed and everything inbetween. Told us lies and created a scene. Can't relive the past but you know how these things are. I picture you crashing that very same car over and over again. Hospital bed. Discharge dischord. I'll assume the very worst to ensure the very best. Not that it ever matters. It's not your fault. If we knew who it was other than ourselves than who could it be?
I know it's not your idea of love but we can't take pictures all our life. You wanted the closeness of human kindness but all we got was scarred remains of each other's sanity. It's never too late to change but the effort involved isn't worth it. The more you change, the more you stay exactly the same. Self improvement is antisocial. No amounts, no costs, no fear, no action, satisfaction.
The more you want of something the less you get. For you it's love, for me it's sleep. Nothing gives me more of a thrill than one day waking up and finding out that it's become hibernation and not sleep. I don't get all that trapped intimacy, it's just not for me. You like to get inside when physically and mentally I'd rather hide in my own room. Hide like pharoahs in their tombs.
Everybody's at the heart of the problem. I forget everything and it all comes back. As automatic as they come. As automatic as they get. I go in different directions. A skilled tourist with a will to get lost. Forget cultures, we're here for scenery. Window dressing is high on the agenda. For you there's nothing else but another boy and another reason to feel miserable. The search for perfection continues. A search that is doomed to failure but perhaps worthwhile if you're that interested.
posted by Plastic Retriever at 12:58 pm
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