On My Way To Work

There's a car parked where the block begins

And these people singing praises

Say it's all because of him

And there's a bird perched on a frayed wet wire

And his voice sings out for a lover

But it's covered by the choir

Of voices reaching way beyond the rafters

With devotion they perform these sacred tasks

They cross themselves and offer up their checkbooks

Slight suffering is not too much to ask

Besides, we all are making money

And we're all fucking alone

And we don't know what we're doing

Maybe just buying us some hope

Because we know that we are lonely

Well, yeah, lonely that's for sure

And the older ones are coughing

Yeah, the older ones they're dying

Maybe we're all dying

I pass a graveyard on my way to work

Today I saw two dozen white roses

on a fresh new mound of dirt

And I wondered about the occupant

When the darkness finally swallowed him

was he calm and content?

Or was he sweating in a struggle to keep breathing

Ripping apart the sheets that dressed his bed

Crying out loud for someone to help him

Then collapsing on his back all pale and dead

Maybe it's me who's this unstable

Always obsessed about the end

Why can't I let what happens happen

And just enjoy the time I spend?

Oh, how I wish it was that easy

But when there is no point to anything

You know it gets a bit confusing

Why it is that I keep going

Why is it that we keep going?