There are no crowds out on the streets No neon lights, no beautiful people Just vacant windows staring down At the heaps of ash and charred rags And the avenues yawn between Ruins that spike like polygraphs At the half remembered husks Int he cordwood-bundled clouds Why won't you fucking listen to me? I'm so close to finding the right words Look past the sores and the slurring tongue And take my reality into your heart You think I'm pathetic But the truth is mine, not yours Because when they cut me open I saw the future coiled up inside