I don't really like it,
but the bitter coffee taste,
it's what keeps me going.
That and drawin' all the plans
out onto the orange of my walls
'cause I can't keep all of it straight.
It's not straight in my head.
I keep pushing past those slimy beads
that slide round in my imagination
and twist through those writhing dreams.
We're always walking,
and I've learned
to hate the perfection
'cause it's like a glass bubble
that always shatters
and falls like rain.
The dreams get confusing,
and I try reaching for you,
but the smoke swirls between us.
We snuff out all the candles,
and the moment gets reflected
over and over
by the silver in the mirrors.
Those are dreams where we all fall down
dead.
I can never save you
and I wake up screaming,
needing another taste
of that coffee bitter.
