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unhinged
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dialed up his home verse on the telephone
he's gotta talk to somebody
who can tell him what the hell is wrong
brain freezing up
he don't know what to do
but the people that know him
know that it ain't nothing new
catch five rings then an answering machine
hang up on the beep
stare up towards the ceiling
stood up to remember that he slept fully dressed
so he grabbed his keys and put a hat on his rat's nest
stepped up to that big outside
somebody once said 'today's a good day to die'
but he never really was a big fan of their work
so he starts up the walk by kicking sand in the dirt
a friend to the strangers a stranger to friends
he'll take a coffee and a pack of cigarettes
when you have a minute
handle it paid up
the change you keep it
he's a sucker for the morning smile and summer cleavage
if you knew him better
he'd ask for some time
cause he's looking for a reservoir to empty his mind
and there's only so much he can put into song
gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong
and this house has gotta lotta walls
but only very few mean anything to you 4x
no shock value to titillate
far from shallow so get it straight
black top sidewalk and the street
cause life is priceless and talk is cheap
and he sits in his four cornered room
following a tune born to consume
carefully learning and analyzing the lyrics you use
finally realizing that humility is a ruse
scared love don't make none
if these walls could speak
they would peep about the fake ones
watching this man
falling off of this plan
underachieving just so he can understand
and this house has gotta lotta walls....2x
so who did your tattoos?
that's nice
and who built your taboos?
that's life
if he had a glass wipe he would smash it
and use it to slash his wrists
someone already beat him to it
he would think of painting you a picture with his blood
a self portrait
dramatic and morbid
but the odds of you finding any appreciation are too slim
keeps his outlook grim
tap his foot to the rhythm of original sin
throw his balls to the wind trying to knock down these pins
he'll keep swinging from the hair above his chin
til he finds his soul in the 50 cent bin
the price of the pay phone escalates
fake smile when he takes home one of his dates
he could write another hate poem for you to break
or maybe stay calm and wait for that big earthquake
still surrounded by the fire and the water
still trying to honor this empire's daughter
still answering questions you're afraid to ask
still believing that god's gonna save his ass
and this house has gotta lotta walls...4x
and if you knew him better
he would ask for some time
cause he's looking for a reservoir to empty his mind
and there's only so much he can put into song
he's gotta talk to somebody that can tell him what the hell is wrong
--- atmosphere , seven's_travels
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