Thing I Guess Even I Need to Hear

And so it comes so mercilessly,
the chance to say goodbye,
the chance to move on be free
and careless,
ha.
Redemption is supposed to feel
good they tell me,
but I can't see this as redemption at all.
Hopes and dreams and wishes lost,
away to a smile and a broken tooth.
Cavities and bills and empty stomachs weigh down,
though they are all in my head, theres not much else
to focus on really.
I could picture the sad streets to mean something,
or the broken toilet or the shoes with no soles,
find meaning or compliance or exubrance in
writing, guitar, friends, school, life.
I fear school to no end.
School means career,
career means retirement,
retirement means death.
I don't want to come home and
see the empty hallways, the empty bedrooms,
the empty bed,
but it's part of growing up they say,
a thing I believe I've feared as well.
Don't cry, you know who you are,
a name once whispered with the greatest
of passion, lust, persistance,
now muttered and muted like everyone elses.
Don't cry, don't worry don't fret.
Everything will be fine, for you and
for me.

John Lennon watches me type from across the room.
The bloody monk, inexact in every way.
I miss the good times and the bad,
the smiles the frowns the laughter the lust
in eyes matching repeating simple desires.
Once again, we walk down seperate paths,
though hopefully adjacent, I pray,
but still in terms of acceptance.
Accepting fate is much harder than it seems,
which I find funny for there is nothing to do
but to accept it.
Or flee of course,
but as we all know,
there is little pride in that.

I hear the cars drive by and I miss my own.
A feeling of great regret, from that fateful day
I looked down instead of up,
put myself in debt to State Farm, the government,
and now I see my dreams.
Everything that happens happens for a reason,
the Lord is watching over us,
guiding us, helping us,
but to say we know his plan is a subtle form
of blasphemy,
for not one of us knows if tomorrow
the sun will rise or if the heart will mend
or if the problems are, in fact, problems.
We all want to know what to do.
I don't deny my own desires.
The only problem is we want to know
what to do on our terms,
not the terms of another.

Go to school to get a job to
suffocate in a tie for 40 years.
Make the big bucks.
Buy a big house,
surrounded by other big houses
with more fellows wearing ties.
Get a sexy wife,
not a sensible one,
only worry what people think of you
not how happy you are at the dinner table
sharing each others daily events.
Have several kids who
play sports or music and
get good grades and wear nice clothing
and become like everyone else
right before your sad tired eyes.

Yes the future scares me, and yes so does
today,
but for fear or doubts no excuse has
been noble not to carry on.
So in depth of myself, and yourself, himself
and herself,
let us all brush the dirt from our jeans.
But please be careful to leave a small blotch
to remind us what it's like to go
on a whim and try what makes us happy.
The stains we have, the scars the holes
in the walls or the puke in the hallway,
all are moments of time captured,
so although it may be hard to find
them comforting at first, hold on to
them and remember how good life can be
when it gets bad,
and how bad it can be when it gets too good.
Learn, plan, rethink, next step.
Hut, two, three, four.
Hut, two, three, four.