There’s a light bulb dangling from string.
It’s slowly swaying up over my head now.
As I jot down the words that’ll never be sung.
And wait for my headache to numb.

And the wind sounds as if the world’s sighing.
And the moon’s just a torn fingernail.
As the TV flickers and hums by the wall.
And I wait for my eyesight to fade.

(So, it’s so damn slow)

And while the bright-eyed choke on ambition.
And the old folks circle their graves.
And the young ones are busy destroying their names.
And you’re still just wasting away.

I sit and watch the screen for a message.
Some kind of sign that says we’re okay.
But the screen stays blank till I turn the thing off.
And wait for my conscience to break.

(So, it’s so damn slow)

And I hope you’re learning to listen.
And I hope you’re learning to stay.
And I hope you find what you’re missing.
And I hope that you’re making your way.
But I’m a head case if I don’t keep moving.
And my head hurts if I don’t sit still.
It’s an itch that I never stop scratching.
It’s a hole that I never quite fill.

So …