Can't Write Down.

When it isn't like it should be
'cause I think it like it'll never be
Will there be a place for me?
No one's ever waiting.
I've sold so many clothes that I don't know who I am
And I lose myself each time in lost and forgotten plans
it's up, it's down
constantly spinning around
It's from womb to grave
love does not save.

I'm mostly singing myself to sleep
so all the quarters you can keep
the broken hearts are free
(you vandals ruin me)
a big blade falling, I always seem to see
luckily it misses
there is no exit, only wishes.
And hope is always ten feet tall
In reverie I sort through it all
The red balloons, the frozen night
Make myself feel alright
Make myself believe in you
then crawl all the way home-what I've been born to do.

Maybe one day I'll see the ten sunset lights
let it all go, feel the warm nights
seal up the boards
and find purpose for that day in 1984.