The City Has Sex
The city has sex with itself I supposeAs the concrete collides while the scenery growsAnd the lonely once bandaged lay fully exposedHaving undressed their wounds for each otherAnd there's a boy in a basement with a four track machineHe's been strumming and screaming all night down thereThe tape hiss will cover the words that he singsBut they say it's better to bury your sadnessIn a graveyard or garden that waits for the springTo awake from its sleep and burst into greenWell, I've criedAnd you would think I'd feel better for itBut the sadness just sleepsAnd it stays in my spineFor the rest of my lifeAnd I've learnedAnd you'd think I'd be something more nowBut it just goes to showIt is not what you knowIt's what you were thinking at the timeThis feeling's familiar, I've been here beforeIn a kitchen this quiet I waited forA sign or just somethingThat might reassure me of anything closeTo meaning or motion, with a reason to moveI needed something I want to be close toAnd I screamBut I still don't know why I do itBecause the sound never stays, it just swells and decaysSo what is the point?Why tryTo fight what is now so certain?The truth is all that I amIs a passing eventThat will be forgotten