The Obituaries

We stumble and stare at the carnival lights that lit up New York City,

From the rooftop in Brooklyn that was covered in bad graffiti.

And then I let a thousand splinters pierce right through my spoiled liver,

Whatever that was left of it.

'Cuz I cursed my lonely memory with picture-perfect imagery.

Maybe I'm not dying I'm just living in decaying cities,

But I'm still healthy, I'm still fine,

I'll be spending all my time readin' the obituaries.

But I will fuck this up,

I fucking know it.

I will fuck this up,

I fucking know it.

I will fuck this up,

I fucking know it.

I will fuck this up,

I fucking know it.

Cause I was the shadow of the waxwing slain

I felt the false azure from windowpanes

I am just freaking out, yeah I'll be fine.

But I will fuck this up,

I fucking know it.

I will fuck this up,

I fucking know it.

I will fuck this up,

I fucking know it.

I will fuck this up,

I fucking know it.