I stand beneath the rust-stained shower
And scrub other people’s filth from myself.
Then I grab my guitar and sit on the dirty bed.
Lit by a bare bulb, I sing for you again:
For the girl with fire hair and milk eyes,
Who was blind but could see.

I sing the songs I wrote,
The ones that no one hears.
I think of the friends I lost,
I think of the love I killed.

I’m gonna get up.
Gonna get up, goddamnit.
Gonna get up, goddamnit,
And go to work.

I stink like a dead rat.
My back aches, my arms are bruised.
My hands are scarred and dirty.
I take my filthy work clothes off.

When I write songs, I’m a teenager again.
Our hideout is waiting up in the hills.
I just buried my best friend.
Your milk eyes pierce straight through me,
Waiting for me to confess.
I never saw you again.

I’m gonna get up.
Gonna get up, goddamnit.
Gonna get up, goddamnit,
And go to work.

This new kid thought I came with the truck.
When I pull the gloves off,
My hands are two white corpses.
They don’t belong to me anymore.

I work all night, then crawl back here.
I play music, eat, drink, sleep all day.
I’m trying to reduce the waking hours
During which you can visit me.

I’m gonna get up.
Gonna get up, goddamnit.
Gonna get up, goddamnit,
And go to work.

I dream of nothing,
Or maybe of everything.
I don’t know.
I don’t care.
I just sleep,
And wake up again,
To do it all over
Every goddamned day.