Pain, compression, in this dumb heart,
Loving people but not the stars,
because nature doesn't give a **** about me,
so speaks indigestion and consequence,
the inconsequential death of a human race,
and in a certain sense, of life, but life divided,
serpentine line, squirming this and that,
holds my guts in place when i'm told the world is not isolated,
but my guts leak small cramps when i am around your disinterest,
in yourself and the drinking of booze,
i just lose my sense of direction, world spinning,
in ways never experienced before,
in ways that keep you, for tipsiness, from driving to this door,
Words that implore but don't move you,
why won't you be moved?
Never before wrenched out, except for other cases of substance abuse.
It just gives me the blues to be close and feel as i'm the one on the down,
And even if you dismiss it as you looking like a clown,
there is a reason why life doesn't come close to you around.
I want your cap to burst like shook champaign,
But i want you to remain sane,
without any usage. But fault lies,
yes, another line, on no one.
And so no one in the curved geodesic of the world is to blame.