Songs from the Carpet

Writing songs from the carpet,
Waiting on the sun, I'm
Trying to sift through the gel beads
Of my memories, I can see
But I can't get in...
I can hold them in my hand, but I
Can't claim them
For my own
For my own...

And we're terrified we'll hate ourselves
When we won't reach the night's sleep,
When we won't even admit my
Own dreams
To myself
Admit our own dreams to ourselves

And we grow it, but don't use it;
And we're old enough to be alone, and
Dumb enough to care-
No matter what you think, you've got
Things in common with the things that you hate, the
Things that you hate are
Like you anyway...

Drop your shoulders, ground your hips
While your feet drop to the porcelain
Last year, you were screaming, last year
You were fightin', now you're
Laying down and dying, and
You ain't even sorry while-

Outside your look-alike takes you home, and you're
Staring at your city on fire, while they're
Standing over you, yellin'
"Whatcha gonna do to fix it?!"
While,
Outside your look-alike takes your home, and you're
Staring at your city on fire, while they're
Standing over you, yellin'
"Whatcha gonna do to fix it?!"

While,
Outside your look-alike takes you home, and you're
Staring at your city on fire, while they're
Standing over you, yellin'
"Whatcha gonna do to fix it?!"
While,
Outside your look-alike steals your home, and you're
Staring at your city on fire, while they're
Standing over you, yellin'
"Whatcha gonna do to fix it?!"