Your place in the sun that sh*tty apartment where your friends are That space you can run to rather than address the test to your rot A place in the ground plywood casket next to loved ones That space that you’re found bloated off-white blue in two feet of mud Tragedy is comedy minus yourself A tawny pale glow Headlights in a ditch below AM on route 32 Guard rail in the shape of bloom Now here’s some bad news when you’re pressed your friends peel off from you Add some sad news when you’re pressed your friends catch a case of self-interest Your building burns in the distance
Your loved ones arrive To watch from the hoods of their cars They lower the radio to listen to you die Your lonely gravesite nobody visits in the daylight For fear your name might expose what we already know about those Sonsovb*tches who only tell but never show A tawny pale glow Headlights in a ditch below AM on route 32 Guard rail in the shape of bloom When they come for the show The headlines read like a joke Tragedy is comedy when it’s someone else Let’s laugh ourselves to death I still find it funny Let’s laugh ourselves to death I can’t help myself and I won’t try