Good Morning, Hypocrite

Seems like the roads stretch out like veins, but there's no heart
Nature's haircut is concrete now, and we played our part
So we sing

I've lost my taste for modern things, they're not for me
I want mundane, a quiet place, where time is free
And I can sing

Crawled from my bed
To collect the thoughts that'd fallen from my head
And you watched me sink
Through the carpet, through the basement, and beyond
And you didn't blink

On the glass, I traced the sun with my thumb
It sank into the ground
And then the stars were blinking
Like kids who were staring into the wind
So I climbed through the window
And walked until I lost my name
Now I can play the victim
It's fine, I've seen it on TV
But if there's one thing I know, it's that I never really know enough

Our heads, our mouths, our brains, our lungs
They're just machines
These hearts are all that we've got left
And they don't beat

Live a little, talk a lot, it's the way this goes
I've come to fear the little knives beneath their well-pressed clothes
Their arms are reaching, reach is spreading through the neon glow
Their mouths are moving, but their voices sound like telephones
The traffic hums, the traffic grumbles near my old window
The street lights flicker, glow and hover like suspended snow
I used to watch the moon retreat and wonder where it goes
Now I just wonder why my head is overrun with ghosts