On My Way To Work
There's a car parked where the block beginsAnd these people singing praisesSay it's all because of himAnd there's a bird perched on a frayed wet wireAnd his voice sings out for a loverBut it's covered by the choirOf voices reaching way beyond the raftersWith devotion they perform these sacred tasksThey cross themselves and offer up their checkbooksSlight suffering is not too much to askBesides, we all are making moneyAnd we're all fucking aloneAnd we don't know what we're doingMaybe just buying us some hopeBecause we know that we are lonelyWell, yeah, lonely that's for sureAnd the older ones are coughingYeah, the older ones they're dyingMaybe we're all dyingI pass a graveyard on my way to workToday I saw two dozen white roseson a fresh new mound of dirtAnd I wondered about the occupantWhen the darkness finally swallowed himwas he calm and content?Or was he sweating in a struggle to keep breathingRipping apart the sheets that dressed his bedCrying out loud for someone to help himThen collapsing on his back all pale and deadMaybe it's me who's this unstableAlways obsessed about the endWhy can't I let what happens happenAnd just enjoy the time I spend?Oh, how I wish it was that easyBut when there is no point to anythingYou know it gets a bit confusingWhy it is that I keep goingWhy is it that we keep going?