Untitled Song

When your picture frame fell
Off the wall the shattered glass was
Sharp and cut a hole in my arm
Just below the elbow and the

Blood ran down my wrist and wrapped my
Fingers in a sticky scarlet
Mess then dripped down to your shattered
Picture frame and stained your smiling face

Looking back at me with poise and grace and complacency
You never meant to rip the apple from the tree

And when the mush inside our brains
Drips out and stains the pavement
We will scrub and scrub until no
Trace of what we thought or felt remains

To change the world or taint the game
The rules will stay the same
The pavement will stay clean and folks will
Be content to let bad music play

On the radio, everybody sings whoa
But I think it’s time to take the shit out of the show
On the radio, everybody sings whoa, oh

Well I believe that there is love in the world
But it can be a real cold place, especially in the winter.
But if everybody frowned then there’d be no one to wrap their lips around mine
And I’d be frowning with them

And when the music in my mind
Is inked on paper I lose track
Of just what I set out to say
And something else takes over

Guides my ball point pen from line to line,
I’ve slept inside dens of lions
And the sounds they make while sleeping
Haunt my dreams and fill my mind

With a terrifying mess of less important things
Like ripping apples out of trees and broken picture frames and what they mean

Well I believe that there is love in the world
But it can be a real cold place, especially in the winter.
But if everybody frowned then there’d be no one to wrap their lips around mine
And I’d be frowning with them