Another Boring Story

The Lawrence Arms

Displacement, the basement, isolation commented

Relented six stairs down naked bulb, tired lungs

Tired eyes, crooked thumbs not up but sideways

For now

The rise and fall and gentle drops

Precipitation never stops

I pulled the clouds inside me and now it's raining again

Cried in my sleep last night for the first time

Dying while I live, living where we die

Futility abounds six feet deep within the coffee grounds.

There ashtrays are volcanoes now

Apartments burn in red and brown

Salt the earth and never grow

Notice ashes look like snow falling

And just sitting there, more trash than the county fair

The smell of crowds, a burning nose

A smell familiarly morose

Half-assed attempt only to fail

Half-assed reflection, ghostly pale

You're waving while I disappear -- ashes cementing my fear