Anxious Endeavors You're slightly misinformed, about my health, the things in my throat and my eating habits. In the end, or so it goes, shit and hope both float and I don't buy it. And the snow beat down making our jackets heavy; I would have gone with you if you would have let me. Standing on the corner listening to MP3's, rolling cigarettes, trying not to breathe so much cold. Slightly misinformed; I don't care, not anymore about your anxious endeavors. Has it been a year? You are such a bore. You've never been like this before, I liked it better when you read to me. I don't, no I don't care if I should walk or if I should run. So when depression turns to carelessness, I'll let the paint thin, stand there and breathe it in until every last little bit of both our lives have shriveled up, forgotten and left too....Striding through the ash can, none of us are hopeful, singing stupid punk songs, she gave me a quarter for it. Our lives on film, our lives in books, our lives as art. Things so contrived, you try to hard. I understand quite fully now, the words on the street have showed me how. I left my heart in Utah. I left my bag on the bus in 'Frisco. Don't hate me for leaving, I just needed a way out. I just wanted to see what the fuss was all about. I got a drink at the corner store and sat down in the street and listened to MC5 on the radio. I can not win I look back and see my faults moving in. When standing on that corner that’s where you'll find me, puking while thinking of you.
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