Six Feet Over

When I cleaned out this place,
I found a small leather pouch

Under layers of dust behind the living room couch.
With things I'd forgotten I actually own.
And a note with your name from when we were still unknows.
I am what I am or pretended to be
. Threw the bathwater out with accuracy.
Now I paint my maps from memory with an aerosol can.
Let the rough edges proclaim I am a better man.
Maybe I am, I've been doing what I can
but you know how it's easy to stray from a plan.

They're making gravestones in the basement,
while I rule in the control room.
Keeping warm in my sheep's clothing
While you're out howling at the moon.

When you had first stumbled upon me and my lies,
you had a halo of sadness and twinkling eyes.
I forgot that this place has revolving doors.
I held on to your bag as you hit the dancefloor.
My outlook may need further explanation.
See, my first love, she got married in the Appalachians.
That might sound pretentious,
but actually it's true
. Unlike most of these things I've been telling you:
I'm bitter and blue, there's no beauty or truth.
And where timelessness comes to an end,
there's solitude.

They're making gravestones in the basement,
While I'm cutting down on my metaphors.
Grazing on the green grass between us,
while you're out dining with the carnivores.

Oh wait, my apprentice. I still have stories to tell.
Like when we went to the crossroads,
But had nothing to sell.
So if you wake up at night
, thinking everything must change,
Just means there's something still pounding
Behind the bars of your ribcage.

They're making gravestones in the basement
while I rule in the control room.
Keeping warm in my sheep's clothing
While you're out howling at the moon.