The pain is gone. The real bad pain I had five years ago, 2002, 2003. When 2004 rolled around I thought OK, this must be enough. Two years is enough, right? C'mon. Well you can put me out. Put me out. I fell asleep watching the movie I grabbed tonight. The Way of the Gun. I love Benicio del Toro. I woke up and thought: the pain is gone. Five years later, five and a half. Not really gone, but gone enough. The thrill too, but that's the price you pay. I thought well it's Friday night, nowhere to be tomorrow. I could make another cup of coffee. I could write.
Put me out of mis-er-y. Yeah hipshake snap it's the brand new me. Up on the stage like I never was, guitar slung low in case I need a chord. Talking to the mike as it comes to me. Like that. Or maybe... yeah, maybe more like this. Pathological mourning, what rhymes with that? I was always big on nomenclature. Every word in its place and a place in every word. Some forever not for better. Three years, four. Not supposed to last that long. If I can just hold on I thought, till the screaming stops. But I knew all the time I wasn't screaming. I was thinking one day I'll write it. Get it in, get it on, get it down the way it really happened. Get it over. Here's a chord right now. All casual like. Just saying.
So what's this? One day you wake up and you're a lounge act? If only you could have been what I dreamed you were. And you say no, that's wrong, that's not the way it goes, you were just projecting. And I say what, were you born yesterday? Of course I was projecting. Can't dance, too wet to plow. What else is there to do here? Are you scared? And you say are you high? We're all scared. But it's my mike tonight, my chords, my world. I thought one day I'd say I thought you'd like who I thought you were. It was a hell of a dream.
