Everything about this place just tends to bring me down
I look into the mirror and see one more hopeless clown
The people on the street have a sad tendency to frown
Nobody wants to be the only one left hanging 'round
This little bit of nowhere that some joker named a town
Whose much happier to be long gone and six feet under ground
Everything about this place was meant to be just so
White picket fences and fake shutters lined up in a row
With people shut inside watching television shows
Nobody wants to be outside and watch the flowers grow
Along the winding street that follows where the river flows
But still seems to get nowhere, and why, no one really knows
Everything about this place is waiting to expire
Waiting for the apocalypse or when they can retire
The people on the street seem unimpressed and uninspired
Nobody wants to tell the truth or cross beyond the wire
It doesn't seem to matter much who's honest or a liar
Either way you're wasting oxygen by tryin' to light a fire
Everything about this place is tied up in the past
Secured in little boxes tied with string and stitched up fast
Folks going through the motions like bad actors in the cast
Of a show that's still in re-runs like a flag flown at half mast
In praise of some great compromise that ends the war at last
With an uncomfortable silence interrupting the broadcast
Everything about this place falls down around my ears
In echoes of an irony that will not disappear
Sad people on the street seem to accept heartache and fear
Nobody wants to be the only one left when it clears
And leaves each of us naked, with our accounts in arrears
As the sad charade is ending, and the day of judgment nears
Everything about this place just makes me more depressed
I look into the mirror and admit I'm not impressed
Can't stand my sad expression and can't stand the way I'm dressed
But thinking about changing only gives me added stress
And anyway, it really doesn't matter, I confess,
'Cause everywhere is nowhere in it's own way, more or less.
06 NOV 2007
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