I’ve had this song stuck in my head for over a week now, usually doing this helps exorcise it:

Lights are out, phones are dead
and I’m the only thing that’s running in this city
except for the clouds and then they’re coming down
for if I knew my way around, I wouldn’t feel so dizzy
Where’s the tele? Nobody can tell me
I don’t speak a lick of that language
and got a slippery memory
if I spelled it all out on my arm
only if but I didn’t so I think
get a grip kid deal with it
baby’s waiting for a ring won’t settle
for the substitute excuse that’s forming
I got a complicated case of escapism
for her I try to rewire my nature
to tired to wake her up
out of that artificial calm that she is on
a drug induced future that slipped out of her palm
seductive rain dancer she think I’m waterproof
like superman doesn’t need a roof over his head
when I come home to roost, I need truth to hold in bed
but I’m seeking salvation in a booth
and the phones are dead and the lights are out
and I’m the only thing that living in this ghost town
except the clouds and then they’re coming down
for if I knew my way around I’d be bound for home

Black out on white night in Rome (2x)

I know that I’m in love, but I know I’m out of touch
and I know that I get dumb when I can sense that something’s up
and then I bottom out, European tailspins
crawling messages outta my pale skin in hopes that they get mailed in
before the ink poisoning takes effect
and it get smudged because I budge before letting paint set
I get judged by ones that have shelter and rainchecks
while I trudge through the mud ’cause this pouring terrain’s wet
regain consciousness and lose common sense
the ominous dark skies that lie between me and Providence
are signs the obvious answer
isn’t standing on your face with stilettos on
if you pop the question wrong, every song is a post after thought
I wont grab the chalk to outline my body of work
toe tags get caught in my teeth cause my foot is in my mouth
and the spurs are in my words so my tongue can’t dismount
even after our rapport has fully run it’s course
couldn’t find the most heroic time to jump from the horse
and place this old hat for the last time on the coat rack
but I donate all my earnings from this race just to know that
resisting all my urges to go back and get it later
like the milk will un-sour itself in the refrigerator
A wet boy in a dry, dry state on an old country road
where tradition has a blind date
I make a dance on it’s own grave tonight
with a change of direction by the pale moon light
and if it needs theme music, I’ll break out the bagpipes
and play you a tune you ghost wrote me in a past life that goes like…

Black out on white night in Rome (4x)

I’m just spitting poetry to the rain
and it sounds dramatic but… it is… but it works
because it’s fuckin’ word release
finally after writing it in my head
and not being able to talk about it

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