The City Has Sex

The city has sex with itself I suppose

As the concrete collides while the scenery grows

And the lonely once bandaged lay fully exposed

Having undressed their wounds for each other

And there's a boy in a basement with a four track machine

He's been strumming and screaming all night down there

The tape hiss will cover the words that he sings

But they say it's better to bury your sadness

In a graveyard or garden that waits for the spring

To awake from its sleep and burst into green

Well, I've cried

And you would think I'd feel better for it

But the sadness just sleeps

And it stays in my spine

For the rest of my life

And I've learned

And you'd think I'd be something more now

But it just goes to show

It is not what you know

It's what you were thinking at the time

This feeling's familiar, I've been here before

In a kitchen this quiet I waited for

A sign or just something

That might reassure me of anything close

To meaning or motion, with a reason to move

I needed something I want to be close to

And I scream

But I still don't know why I do it

Because the sound never stays, it just swells and decays

So what is the point?

Why try

To fight what is now so certain?

The truth is all that I am

Is a passing event

That will be forgotten