all these misguided bohemian leanings count for nothing if nothing has meaning. 
that’s so fashionable but i believe in something i just don’t know what it is. 
and i found myself in a room full of paintings of typewritten divorce letters, 
and then came the part when we all felt smart, 
someone said “this is life and life is art.” 

so if you think something’s wrong, 
it will be in your head. 
so lie on the couch and tell me were you breast fed? 
i said “i’ve been walking for miles and it all looks the same, 
is this a kind of [bad word] or is it me? who’s to blame?” 
and he said 
“well kid, frankly, you better start stocking up on coping strategies: 
perception is the father of fact.” 

and although you feel a pulse, i just see a wallet. 
although you feel a pulse, i just see a wallet. 
although you feel a pulse, i just see a wallet. 

get back in your case, looking out over the heads of 
uninterested intellectuals, busy waxing ineffectual. 

and although you feel a pulse, i just see a wallet. 
although you feel a pulse, i just see a wallet. 
although you feel a pulse, i just see a wallet.