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