The sputter and blink of the streetlamp
Makes you taller, then shrinks you, then splits you in half
So you're trailing yourself on the walk to the payphone
Your pockets weighted down with quarters
And the hope that no one's home

You spray paint cinnamon on vines
And key the cars you pass by
Your ears burn and your voice don't sound right

So you spend the next week playing weekend
Rolling three-man alone in the dark in your kitchen
Your apartment can't talk, so it's safe for your secrets
All the stories you've invested with a masochist's
menace and meaning

Those tired tricks that you play
To graft a life to your name
And you know it's not yours, but for now it's okay

You wake and cut your initials in cheap glass
To mark a space for yourself when your time here has passed
And you're drifted and done, trading danger for distance
And all those rocks that rope your neck are finally nameless
and weightless and faceless

You'll strip the sting from those stains that bleed the life
from your face
And your cheeks'll burn red on that pure, perfect day