All my pain may seem so trite
but it's the thing that keeps me warm at night.
And I'm looking all around,
to find a little piece of truth
written in graffiti
in some mangled up telephone booth.
And I swear that I would run,
If I could find the right shoes.
Broken in with a bit of tread left
late at night and out of breath
I'd forget about these blues.
But instead I stay
and clean up the mess
that's been stifling me,
sifting through all this nostalgia
to find what lies beneath
So I hold my hands
up close to my chest
to see if I can find a rhythm
I can stick to a little bit more or less
and when I look around me,
I know that at sometime
it will all leave,
but for the moment I find,
I'm distracted by all the things I can't see.