Текст: Alias. The Other Side Of The Looking Glass. Getting By.

We create wheel barrows full of sound for it to be dumped into a black hole:
the bottomless abyss of bi-polar disorders
A broken abacus down to good times
Someone please write a post-it note to remind me why I'm doing this
and when to pay the cable bill
Won't talk about the cage, it's been touched on too much
Besides, I'm seeing dead whales all too often
which in itself is rather frightening
Sad how bad times make good music
Hope I can maintain this great depression
and leave myself guessing if I can out do the former until the end
We're all waiting for the payoff..
I have one, they have none, so I'm feeling rather lucky and guilty at the
same time

We all whistle a salty tune to ourselves for the world to hear
and when it's time to capture memories
the closest thing to a smile we can muster is a sneer
And giving blood, sweat, and tears in exchange for cold sweat
and fears is only equal to a tickled throat for so long
So the songs lose excitement and loops become grating
My being is scarred up and I can't keep myself from picking
We turn pages and fight sore hands
ADD addicts of abrasiveness joyriding through the same scene over and over
Time and time again I'm asking myself why
but I'm proud of the dust of twenty cities irritating my eyes
"All for what?" loops in my head
I ain't fessin' 'til I'm dead or until everything is said
She has bouquets of poppies spilling from her heart
and I'm stuck here tapping my pen on my pad of paper wondering where to start
I suppose this comes with the process and problems, getting by
three reasons to do this: her, them, and I

[Chorus:]
Kicking myself, standing on the edge with a dumb look on, snapping out of it
asking, "what are you doing?"
Kicking myself, standing on the edge with a dumb look on, snapping out of it
asking, "what are you thinking?"
Kicking myself, standing on the edge with a dumb look on, snapping out of it
asking, "where are you going?"
Kicking myself, standing on the edge with a dumb look on, snapping out of it
asking, "why?"

On overcast days, I'm at one with myself
but perhaps I should take advice from bumper stickers
But seeing old guitarists on their farm with their children reminscing
is that feeling that I'm missing from almost a year ago
Back then, it was all about looking through the bullet holes and sighing
Now it's snapping my fingers at Linus and smiling
I guess it takes hard times to curl my fingers, not a fist
but around this blue flex-grip asking, "do you think...?"
Select a question to be answered in words that are next to nothing
that's how I kept my sanity in the first half
I feel like someone is passing hula-hoops down the length of my body
yet the theater seats are empty, yet I still hear that laugh
It takes a power outage to muster creativity
just like tragedies and the commerce on the Stars and Stripes
Who am I to say? I have problems getting a blank page moving
just one of my insecurities that I suppose will come and go today
All I can hear are the drums I search for
that might be why the pens are mute at this point
Sole says, "it's rubies and rabies,"
and lately I've been foaming at the mouth
Can't put my finger on why
my sleeves are sopping wet with possiblys and maybes
This is the part where I repeat the last two lines
of the song before the chorus to drive across my point
This is the part where I repeat the last two lines
of the song before the chorus to drive across my point?

[Chorus]