iLoveYouWithaKnife
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2002
- Messages
- 8,351
Vacationing is a different thing,
but I don't think this place is me.
It isn't the fast-paced,
unfamilyized,
-I don't give a fuck
about anyone or
thing but me-
feeling.
It isn't the corporate
filled streets
with Starbucks
marking each corner
like the corner before
and you can't tell the
difference between
Venice and Sepulveda
Bouldevard.
It isn't the fact of
leaving 2 hours early
to go absolutely
anywhere, to get
somewhere on time.
Because who the fuck knows
how traffic will be or how many
cars the freeway will hold.
It isn't the millions of people
that line the streets
flaunting off their plastic
molds, others call bodies,
or the fact that you can't
smoke anywhere...
and people don't recycle,
let alone eat,
because there can't be a
place in the world
that holds so many
perfect, pretty people,
who are really so
ugly on the inside.
It's the same thing I hate
about Pennsylvania,
and my jobs, and my car,
and my house and my
room, and anything
and everything else
that doesn't link me to you.
I can adjust fairly well
whereever I'm thrown,
but I always find
I never get comfortable-
The way I'd imagine
falling asleep in
your arms on a few
cold nights in January.
But thinking about that
just leads me to thinking
about the cold feeling
that will consume me
when I'm driving away
from the airport
and you are on a plane-
and who knows when
I'll see you again.
And it's a good thing
that you are optimistic
because I don't have
an ounce of it in me.
And you make me smile
when you say
you have newspapers
down there
and the state has schools.
But you don't realize that
the state has one thing
I want-
which is you.
So the only thing
to do, is for me to
finish up in this city-
and get on a plane.
Go back to work,
do everything the same,
before I came here.
With the car I hate
and the jobs that take
up all my time and the
house I live in-
but don't ever see,
in the state I hate...
and sit back and wait
for my birthday.
When I'll drive to greet you
in a bar you'll sit in
waiting for me,
taking off the anxious edge,
because neither of us
will know what to expect.
And we'll go from there.
And maybe next Christmas Eve
we'll be trimming our own tree...
in a state that won't matter
to me-
as long as you are there with me.
but I don't think this place is me.
It isn't the fast-paced,
unfamilyized,
-I don't give a fuck
about anyone or
thing but me-
feeling.
It isn't the corporate
filled streets
with Starbucks
marking each corner
like the corner before
and you can't tell the
difference between
Venice and Sepulveda
Bouldevard.
It isn't the fact of
leaving 2 hours early
to go absolutely
anywhere, to get
somewhere on time.
Because who the fuck knows
how traffic will be or how many
cars the freeway will hold.
It isn't the millions of people
that line the streets
flaunting off their plastic
molds, others call bodies,
or the fact that you can't
smoke anywhere...
and people don't recycle,
let alone eat,
because there can't be a
place in the world
that holds so many
perfect, pretty people,
who are really so
ugly on the inside.
It's the same thing I hate
about Pennsylvania,
and my jobs, and my car,
and my house and my
room, and anything
and everything else
that doesn't link me to you.
I can adjust fairly well
whereever I'm thrown,
but I always find
I never get comfortable-
The way I'd imagine
falling asleep in
your arms on a few
cold nights in January.
But thinking about that
just leads me to thinking
about the cold feeling
that will consume me
when I'm driving away
from the airport
and you are on a plane-
and who knows when
I'll see you again.
And it's a good thing
that you are optimistic
because I don't have
an ounce of it in me.
And you make me smile
when you say
you have newspapers
down there
and the state has schools.
But you don't realize that
the state has one thing
I want-
which is you.
So the only thing
to do, is for me to
finish up in this city-
and get on a plane.
Go back to work,
do everything the same,
before I came here.
With the car I hate
and the jobs that take
up all my time and the
house I live in-
but don't ever see,
in the state I hate...
and sit back and wait
for my birthday.
When I'll drive to greet you
in a bar you'll sit in
waiting for me,
taking off the anxious edge,
because neither of us
will know what to expect.
And we'll go from there.
And maybe next Christmas Eve
we'll be trimming our own tree...
in a state that won't matter
to me-
as long as you are there with me.
