there’s a car parked where the block begins
and there’s people singing praises
saying it's all because of him
there’s a bird perched on a frayed wet wire
and his voice sings out for a lover
but it’s covered by the choir 
of voices reaching way beyond the rafters
with devotion they perform these sacred tasks
they cross themselves and offer up their checkbooks
slight suffering is not too much to ask
besides we all are making money
and we’re all [bad word] alone
and we don't know what we’re doing
maybe just buying us some hope
because we know that we are lonely
oh yeah, lonely that's for sure
and the older ones are coughing
yeah, the older ones they’re dying
but maybe we’re all dying
i pass a graveyard on my way to work
today i saw two dozen white roses 
on a fresh new mound of dirt
and i wondered about the occupant
when the darkness finally swallowed him 
was he calm and content
or was he sweating in a [bad word] to keep breathing
ripping apart the sheets that dressed his bed
crying out loud for someone to help him
and collapsing on his back all pale and dead
maybe it's me who's this unstable
always obsessed about the end
why can't i let what happens happen?
and just enjoy the time i spend
oh how i wish it was that easy
but there’s no point to anything 
you know it gets a bit confusing
why is it i keep going?
why is it that we keep going?