Lyrics

SUNLIGHT
You wouldn’t think it would get this dark, driving down this stretch of Wilshire Boulevard. But the sodium lights don’t seem to reach as far from within the cheap tint of this goddamn car. Still, there’s just enough glare to block out the stars. I trace the familiar length of the street like a scar, all the curves and the angles long committed to heart. And after all of this time, it shouldn’t be this hard to go home. Come on, sunlight, get me out of here. Get me out of here alive. I head north towards the burning park, where dry wind’s been churning the ashes and sparks, to climb up on a bluff, black, beaten and charred, and behold the blinking grid of the boulevards. Lanes stretching far out to a distant dark: veins pumping cars into a lonely heart, full of paper-thin chambers keeping us apart, where I sleep to keep waiting for my life to start on its own.

AN OLD PHOTO OF YOUR NEW LOVER
An old photo of your new lover that you discovered in a book she lent, shot in some sun-drenched piazza (or whatever) in Rome, or wherever it is she went. There’s a sly glint in her eye, and you can only guess at what it might have meant. But there’s a world without you. A new photo of your old lover that you discovered to your chagrin. It’s been so long since it all went under that you stopped wondering where’s she’s been. Her hair’s changed, her clothes are strange, at a party where the likes of you would never get in. There’s a world without you. You don’t want the news if you’re not a part of it. Even if it’s true, you still fall apart a bit. You don’t want the news if you’re not at the heart of it, even if it’s true. Even if it’s true: there’s a world without you.

EVERYTHING FALLS APART
Oh, move slow. Everything falls apart after you go. No, you won’t, I know. Stay close — I want to hold on as long as I can feel the glow.

IN A CITY WITHOUT SEASONS
My train, your call, the rain to end, the news, the fall, my lousy friends, the spring, my ride, your half-lit face, a break, a breath, a little space. It’s hard to measure time in a city without seasons. The smog makes gorgeous light, but you can never let the breeze in. I’ve been waiting for so long that I forgot the reason. It’s hard to measure time in a city you don’t believe in. I dreamt again of someplace cold, where air gets thin, and I’d grow old. But noise, and heat, they brought me back. That was today, I think, but I lose track. I had a chance to leave one time; it was the day we met. The moment drifts into my mind, till once again I forget.

PLANS
From the narrow streets of this narrow town, where lives compete for Most Let Down, I’ll be a fading ghost, a distant memory. Like things they fear the most, they’ll never speak of me. I’m gonna change my name. I’m gonna be a star. I’m gonna ditch the shame of who my parents are. And if ever someone asks where I’ve been, they’ll say, “We never saw the bastard again.” I am leaving here as fast as I can — I am. I’ve seen the empty space behind my neighbor’s eyes. If you don’t leave this place, something inside you dies. So I’m done eating dinner in the drive-thru parking lot, listing all the things I’ve been called that I swear I’m not. I swear, I’m not! (I’m just biding my time till I can get it right.) I swear, if ever someone asks where I’ve been, they’ll say, “We never saw the bastard again.” I am leaving here as fast as I can. Fuck this town and all the things I have been. I am leaving here as fast as I can. If not tomorrow, well, the day after, then.

CONSTANCE
I climb up on the roof while you’re still sleeping in our little bed to let out all the secrets I’ve left steeping in my weary head. Down below, it’s just the dogs and the ghosts, scattering into the darkness when you get too close. The halo of the neon signs — from here, the words turn into nothing but colored lines. I’m so heavy with the weight of my love, pressed up against my chest till it’s all I can think of. I speed the empty boulevard at night, on the cool metal frame of a mountain bike. I line the wheels up with the long yellow stripe, and close my eyes for a second, just to feel what it’s like…I’ve seen the edge of where this road has led, but I’ve always turned around to head home instead.

EVERYONE BUT YOU
I don’t want to go out, and wade through all the faceless crowds and their stories. I don’t care about all the petty details, so no need to inform me. Everybody bores me — everyone but you. One time, I gave it a shot: I took one step forward, tried to tell my story. No one gave it much thought. I’m not sure they noticed. There’s nothing out there for me, where everyone’s ignored me. Everyone ignored me — everyone but you. Everyone abhors me. If I’m honest, well, then surely I can see that. Everyone abhors me — everyone but you.

CREDIBLE THREATS
I’m never sleeping, I’m too busy keeping track of all the ways they say I might die: a turbulent airplane, the shuddering L train, a sudden flood of brake lights on I-5. My heart rate gets nervous, your phone is out of service. I’m sweating all the things I could have done, while I stand on the corner, eyeing all the foreigners, like I straight up forgot where I come from. I’m never sleeping, I’m too busy keeping track of all the things that could go wrong while young turks, they line up, the hackles on their spines up, across from riot cops stretched ten blocks long. And in satellite photos, some scorched patch of earth shows tyrants erecting statues of themselves. I tape up windows just to practice, cash stashed in the mattress, and a year of bottled water on my shelves. Tom Brokaw’s talking about a dirty bomb. I got another call from my poor mom. I lie awake with one hand on your back. I’m never sleeping; I’m still keeping track.

THE HEAT
The summer came quick, and hit like a brick. I couldn’t move without feeling sick. I tried to sleep, but the heat was too thick. I stayed up all night, till the clock turned six. I was paralyzed. There’s a dent in the bed in the place where you slept. It’s the only thing left of yours that I kept — a shallow reminder I was out of my depth. While you never looked, I never leapt. I was paralyzed, always paralyzed.

TICKING HEART
Beating heart that falls apart will someday start again. Breaks you down, feels like you’re six feet under the ground, but you’re not. You’re alive, and you’ll love again. Even though it feels like the end, it’s not the end. Ticking heart that falls apart will someday start again. Gears wind down, but your rusty pulse and its fluttering sound won’t fade out. You’re alive, and you’ll love again, even though it feels like the end. It’s not the end.

WEATHERING (THE NEWS)
You know I know how hard you try to get it right all of the time. The winter moves slow, but so far, we’re fine — it’s just hard, at night, to put it out of your mind. From our room on the hill above the town, you sit and watch the snow, still coming down. On the news, they can’t say how long it will take to clean up what’s left in its wake.