Histrionic

Wrinkled sheets, rental beds

Some damp street, neon spreads

Cigarettes heat women’s breath and stain their tips in red

Outside: Ten degrees, a thousand inside

The smell of the liquor spilled on towels

But that man feels no regrets, no sins at all

So he tunes his life in a key so high

But he can never understand that the dark of sky

Between what’s stone and light a star is made

He tries to shine by feeding on with flames

Life is really strange

You burn yourself and pretend you don’t feel it!

And now he says he’s feeling okay

And now he says he’s feeling no pain

And now he says and now

Even though he is drowning at each yard

That man keeps diving lower

In spite of people and what they can say

So he tunes his life in a key so high

But he can never understand that the dark of sky

Between what’s stone and light a star is made

Mistunes the choir throwing clefs and sounds at the ground

He just hears himself, does he make his way?

To sing out loud is not the same of writing your own song