I Used to Listen to Music

Slow budget film takes the scenic route
Thru the ordinary and tries to be cute
There's a scene the director refuses to cut
It doesn't bring much to the table or advance the plot
The actor is alone, dancing in the basement.
There's nothing to get. It's a feeling, a moment
It adds to the aesthetic. Some people won't get it
Subtle in the silence there was something poetic
In another scene the actor's driving at night
Rain on the windshield, blurry street lights
They turn the stereo up, play my favourite son
The actor does nothing, which is what i would've done

I used to listen to music but now I just put it on

It was the soundtrack, not just the background
Am I indulging in dark thoughts or shutting them out
I didn't feel as alone knowing that someone else had expressed
The way that I felt when I felt depressed
I thought I needed a reason for pain to be justified
I was down and out but never hard done by
My head was filled with words between my headphones
I had said them to myself as if they were my own
I read the liner notes to know when and where it was from
And how it was recorded. I could almost see that room
And I could see your hometown when my eyes were closed
right on top of mine as if the 2 were transposed
I used to know all the words, now I just hum along
I once said them as prayers at the top of my lungs
I need it now as much as I did when I was young
because I'm afraid to admit that I'm more lost than I let on

I used to listen to music but now I just put it on

I stopped buying records once I moved 1 too many times
I tried to sell all my stuff but where do you draw that line?
Which starts the paranoid existential bullshit I can't turn off if I tried to
Some art I couldn't part with for the sentimental value
Make time and space for art, because you make it for yourself
All that I have left sits upon my shelf
I got a chapbook of poetry sent to me thru the post
from a friend of a friend who I only met once
It slowly flips open with a broken spine
Favourite lines highlighted, second hand thoughts inscribed
There's a history to this particular print
That tries to explain why it's so difficult to exist
Everything I own was placed at my feet
As if what you're into and what you have really makes you unique
As I search for substance, even my misery is mediocre
But it's honestly ok, because we're all in this together
Am I defined by all I identify with in this room?
Am I just an amalgamation of all things which I consume?
Was I on to something or was it something I was on?
What changed in me? When did I forget how to have fun?
I used to be more enthused, how did I lose it?

I used to listen to music but now I just put it on