Through/Suit

All these depressing evenings
In this depressing bed
With all these pressing issues
Pressing against my head
I cannot concentrate
On one thing at a time
I am starting over
I am too far behind
And if I gave a handshake
To every phony man
There would be no sensation
Left to this bony hand
There is no reputation
That precedes itself
I've heard no declination
Rebuttal, or sale
But we keep selling ourselves
By the neon blue and red
By the keyboards at our hands
And we all just keep dishing it out
Like the bar sluts beg for booze
Do we want to be loved or to be used?
All of these careful people
Shout the same careful sermons
Well I've been lectured carefully
And I've been told I'm human
I don't ever want to
Have to choose a side
But I can't argue with
The way I feel inside
All these depressing feelings
Translate paper from pen
Or keyboard to monitor
In my friends' parents' den
There is no reputation
That precedes itself
I've heard no declination,
Rebuttal, or sale
And I keep telling myself
This has got to even out
There has got to be an out
You all just keep listening
Like you want to see what I can do
Be like my father or follow through
Well I don't know what I can do
I can't keep depending on each of you
I just want to make it to the point
Where I can open up my throat
And sing some world some words I wrote
And pay some bills off from the road
Or I want to swim to where it's black
And feel my lungs start to collapse
I can sit back and relax
Because that would not be so bad.