They painted up your secrets, with the lies they told you, and the least they ever gave you was the most you ever knew.

And I wonder where these dreams go, when the world gets in your way.
What’s the point in all this screaming? No one’s listening anyway.

Your voice is small and fading, and you hide in here unknown.
And your mother loves your father, cause she’s got nowhere to go.

And she wonders where these dreams go, cause the world got in her way…
What’s the point in ever trying? Nothing’s changing anyway.

They press their lips against you, and you love the lies they say.

And I tried so hard to reach you, but you’re falling anyway.

And you know I see right through you, cause the world gets in your way.

What’s the point in all this screaming? You’re not listening anyway.

Go, repress your prudent side; it’s beautiful, but plastic.

Go, reveal darker sides; killing is never too drastic.

Go, turn to the assassin. 
Go, make an appointment with the assassin.

Turn to the assassin.

Go, make an appointment with the assassin.

White lines come, anodyne, like a calm summer sea.
But all these creatures they’ve been watching me…

Midnight by candlelight, just my heart in a spoon; all my insides howl at the moon.

The music begins, violins… the sad state we’re in wears so thin.

Tattoo covers needle bruises, like I won’t ever know.
Long sleeve shirt sleeves like it’s twenty below.

Glass eyes don’t recognize, like you can’t even see.

You say these monsters…they’ve been watching me.

There is no sin my skin.
The madness within wears so thin… it’s done me in.

Smeared black ink; your palms are sweaty and I’m barely listening to last demands. I’m staring at the asphalt wondering what’s buried underneath where I am. I’ll wear my badge; a vinyl sticker with big block letters, adhered to my chest. It tells your new friends, “I am a visitor here. I am not permanent.” And the only thing keeping me dry is where I am. 

You seem so out of context in this gaudy apartment complex. I am a stranger with your door key, explaining that I’m just visiting. 

gfrancescoa:

Nick Drake - Place To Be (1972)

When I was young, younger than before
I never saw the truth hanging from the door
And now I’m older—see it face to face
And now I’m older—gotta get up clean the place