Elliot Smith erupts from my stereo
like the dead and gone songwriter that he was
slipping a blade into his side
to cut away his life
and we all listen up when surfing the Internet

she said that i write much better
when things are all fucked up
and she said that tomorrow will come with ease and peace
although she is captured in another's arms
and when i cant sleep
when you cant close your eyes
we all do the same thing

look up to the stars and dream
to ourselves
dream to our future
and wonder where
when
why
and what has happened all these years
if we only had more money
everything would be easier
and everything would just fall into place
with out much work at all

there are no finance problems
and your first apartment is just a little baby step
and your first car is just a unicycle
leading you to future wealth
because when you have so much money
as she does
things just make more sense
and its easy to think about yourself
you cant help but to gain money
when you have enough

while i still sit alone
still i sit alone
while i cant sleep
looking to the same stars
looking to the same sky as everybody else
Bill Murray is screaming on the television
and i write the night away

with noodles and a beer
with wine and without fear
it's use is senseless
and it sense is useless
we watched foreign films and passed out in each other's arms
until we slept and woke up
to sirens
calling all to wake
she tells me of her insecurities
but only with her eyes
because her lips don't move

i really cant help swinging her way
all these days take so much out of me
and all i really want to do is sit down
and write something
and read something
and drink something while i am at it

although, it all adds up the same
these nights
when a fallen figure
finally fades away
you cant help but to imagine
what
and why
and where