Insomnia by Electric President.

There’s a light bulb dangling from string.  It’s slowly swaying up over my head now as I jot down the words that’ll never be sung, and wait for my headache to numb.  And the wind sounds as if the world’s sighing, and the moon’s just a torn fingernail, as the TV flickers and hums by the wall.  And I wait for my eyesight to fade.  So, so, so, it’s so damn slow.  So, so, so, it’s so damn slow.  And the bright-eyed choke on ambition, and the old folks circle their graves, and the young ones are busy destroying their names, and you’re still just wasting away.  I sit and watch the screen for a message, some kinda sign that says we’re okay, but the screen stays blank till I turn the thing off, and wait for my conscience to break.  o, so, so, it’s so damn slow.  So, so, so, it’s so damn slow.  I hope you’re learning to listen, and I hope you’re learning to stay, and I hope you find what you’re missing, and I hope that you’re making you’re way.  I’m a head case if I don’t keep moving, and my head hurts if I don’t sit still.  It’s an itch that I’ll never stop scratching; it’s a hole that I’ll never quite fill.  So…

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