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I don't know why I'm tired
Possibly I'm nervous about a girl that heard us play
The song about that time
You were into race cars, comic books, her pockmarked thighs
I found my father's gun
Underneath his Hustler magazines and tin foil pipes
Our day had finally come
What a waste of time!

She was sweet and pale, a chopstick through her hair
Shaking out the static from her velvet dress
Wooden chairs and half moons spilled across her legs

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Let's just be cautious
I never thought I'd last this long, I never thought I'd make it
She could fit a cue ball inside her mouth
and whistle, thereby demonstrating everything:

Her backward logic, hatred, lovesick, and painful headtrip.

I checked the pilot light
It's out; we're in for one cold night
I must admit, I'm terrified
Of spiders, shadows, bloodshot eyes

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