Deja Vu

Four more doors and a keycard
Several floors, all these new guardrails
Between the street and home
Between the street and home
Home, home

Still trying to define it, still trying to find it
Still trying to define it, still trying to find it

And I'm spending even more time googling ulcers, feeling nauseous
I think my body is fighting me; how could I blame it
An unreliable narrator dry-heaving in an elevator
Don't adjust your dials, it's not deja vu, it's just the same shit

Trying to mark what is just me
And what's sparked up by my disease
'Cause if there is a line
If there is a line
I'm, I'm

Still trying to define it, still trying to find it
Still trying to define it, still trying to find it, find it

Carpet fibres underneath my fingernails and bits of greasy scalp and hair
Like bass lines under looping questions
Can I walk without stumbling? Can I talk without mumbling
Can absolution come without repentance, just confession

If I die before I wake
At least I won't be as shaky
My hands would finally still
My hands would finally still
Ill, ill

But my cat greets me at the door when I get home after work
And I wake up to his purring body curled near my ear
His love, of course, is gratifying, and equal parts terrifying
Christ, there's a life in my hands, I need to stay here