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i dreamt of a fever,
one that would cure me of this cold, winter set heart.
with heat to melt these frozen tears and burned with reasons as to carry on.
into these twisted months i plunge without a light to follow
but i swear that i would follow anything
if it would just get me out of here.
and so you get six months to adapt
and then you get two more to leave town.
in the event that you do adapt we still might not want you around.
and i fell for the promise of a life with a purpose
but i know that that is impossible now.
and so i drink to stay warm
and to kill selected memories
because i just can't think anymore about that or about her tonight
i give myself three days to feel better
or i swear i am driving off a fucking cliff
because if i can't make myself feel better
then how can i expect anyone else to give a shit
and i scream for the sunlight or a car to take me anywhere
just get me past this dead and eternal snow
because i swear that i am dying, slowly but its happening
and if the perfect spring is waiting somewhere
just take me there and lie to me and say it's going to be alright
its going to be alright, yeah you worry too much kid,
its going to be alright.

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In The Eyes Of A Stranger ....
.... Nothing Is What It Seems

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HRC.ORG | FIGHT YOUR RIGHTS

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Now and again it seems worse than it is,
but mostly the view is accurate.
You see your breath in the air while you climb up the stairs
to that coffin you call your apartment.
And you sink in your chair, brush the snow from your hair
and drink the cold away.
You are not really sure what you are doing this for
but you need something to fill up the days.
A few more hours.
There is a dream in my brain that just won't go away.
It has been stuck there since it came a few nights ago;
I'm standing on a bridge in the town where I lived as a kid
with my mom and my brothers.
And then the bridge disappears and I'm standing on air
with nothing holding me. And I hang like a star,
fucking glow in the dark, for all those starving eyes to see,
like the ones we've wished on.
But now I'm confused. Is this death really you?
Do these dreams have any meaning? No.
No, I think it is more like a ghost that has been following us both.
Something vague that we are not seeing,
something more like a feeling.

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There is a cat in the window of the house of my lover.
Well he sleeps there alone now or perhaps with another
but I try not to think about that.
I try not to think at all.
I get cocaine from this guy I met and my brother buys me alcohol.
And I stay up all night walking through these houses I have grown to hate
and my parents ask if I'm all right I say "I've just been staying up too late."
I need to sleep. I need to do something to get this awful weight up off my chest
and keep his pretty ghost from chasing me...
You say there are spaces open and wide.
You say there are days longer than nights.
And I could be happy if only I'd try... but I don't try. I don't try.
And you speak of a fever that burns you inside.
As you explain to your mother how you have wanted to die.
So she kisses your fingers and says;
"My Darling but why? When there is so much more. There is so much more.
Do you know there are spaces open and wide. Believe me,
there are days longer than nights. And you will be happy the minute you try.
So won't you try? Won't you try?"

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The animals laugh from the dark of the wilderness.
A baby cried hard in an apartment complex,
as I pass a car buried under the influence.
The city is driving me out of my mind.
I have seen a child is caught in the sad trap of gravity.
He falls from the lowest branch of the apple tree
and lands in the grass and weeps for his dignity.
Next time he will not aim so high.
Yeah, next time, neither will I.
A mother takes loans out, sends her kids off to colleges.
Her family is reduced to names on a shopping list.
Meanwhile, a coroner kneels beneath a great, wooden crucifix.
He know that there are worse things than being alone.
I have learned to retreat at the first sign of danger.
I mean, why wait around, if it's just to surrender?
Ambition, I have found, can only lead to failure.
I do not read the reviews. No, I am not singing for you.
I stood dropping a coin into the pit of a well.
And I would throw my whole billfold if I thought it would help.
With all these wishes I make, I should buy something real,
at least a telephone call home.
My teachers, they built the retaining wall memory,
all those multiple choices I answered so quickly.
And I got my grades back and forgot just as easily,
but at least I got an "A".
So I don't have them to blame.
I should stop pointing fingers;
reserve my judgment of all those public
action figures, the cowboy president.
So loud behind the bullhorn, so proud
they can't admit when they have made a mistake.
While poison ink spews from a speechwriter's pen,
he knows that he doesn't have to say it, so it don't bother him.
"Honesty" "Accuracy" are really just "Popular Opinion."
And the approval rating is high, so someone is going to die.
ABC, NBC, CBS: Bullshit.
They give us fact or fiction? I guess an even split.
And each new act of war is tonight's entertainment.
We are still the pawns in their game.
As they take an eye for an eye until no one can see,
we must stumble blindly forward, repeating history.
Well, I guess that we all fit into your slogan
on the fast food marquee: "Red blooded, White skinned oh and the Blues."
I got the Blues! I got the Blues! That's me! That's me!
Well, I awoke in relief.
My sheets and tubes were all tangled weak from whiskey and pills,
in a New York City hospital.
My father was there, in a chair, by the window, staring so far away.
I tried talking, just whispered, "...so sorry...so selfish..."
He stopped me and said,
"Child I love you regardless and there is nothing
you could do that would ever change this.
I'm not angry. It happens. You just can't do it again."
So now I try to keep up, I have been exchanging my currency.
While a million objects pass through my periphery.
So now I am rubbing my eyes because they are starting to bother me.
I have been staring too long at the screen.
But where was it when I first heard the sound of humility?
It came to my ears in the goddamn loveliest melody.
How grateful I was then to be part of the mystery, to love and be loved.
Let's just hope that is enough.

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