Spring forward towards two steps backwards;
Oh, the aching pace of progress.
Stepping through whole rooms of bastards, hearing voices speaking static.
Everybody do The Cruddler: turn your backs on one another,
Only every looking inward,
Until all that you discover is time spent all alone in rooms full of both best friends and strangers,
Avoiding engaging anyone for fear of your loose ends and their dangers.
Is anybody home?
I'm fucking leaving 'cause no one has a good reason to stay.
There's other cigarette smoke to be breathing.
I've had enough of people for today.
I'm going fucking home.
Track Name: Talkin' Shit
I'll throw a party inside of my head; no one's invited.
I'll bring the streamers, and self loathing; no one's excited.
I've been carrying on conversations with myself for so fucking long
You would think at least by now we'd get along.
Exchanging wit and exchanging insults in an empty room,
Talking some shit and sprinkling some salt into my own wounds.
I've been carrying on conversations with myself for so fucking long,
You would think at least by now we'd get along, but you'd be dead wrong.
I'm throwing parties inside of my head; no one's invited.
And even though I'm playing host I'd sort of rather skip it.
Track Name: Smokin'
Taking up smoking just to busy my hands,
Because in social situations, I'm never too sure of what to do with them.
(Because otherwise I'd grab you by the hair demanding some answers as to why you just don't care 'bout any of the many things we've shared.)
I just keep it in my head, and just light another cigarette instead.
Taking up smoking just to busy my hands
Because maybe then you won't notice just how often they shake when in your presence.
And with every exhaled cloud of smoke,
There's the raspy whisper of the words I never spoke,
And now I'm ashing on my feet again, keeping my head down, and lighting another cigarette instead.