Comfort me!

In my place, people come to visit me.

Connections are broken; we don’t get any hits.

Break the barriers if you dare to see the state of it,

But you know you’ll never leave the way you came in.

Sunday morning, the phone wakes me up,

‘Cause here in my place the walls have come unstuck.

I said it, I said it, I said it.

Now the air is blue with words.

Comfort me!

I’m trying to be something.

Comfort me!

I’m trying to be someone else but me.

You didn’t come to my place, so I say good riddance,

I become an oyster with a remedy for impotence.

The church spire looks in on me and sees me changing shape,

But we don’t mind who Jesus was nor what he had to say.

It’s been so long now that I haven’t left my place-

My vision’s sliding there are voices in the space.

Another miserable Monday morning trick:

Just tell ‘em your back’s done in and call in sick.

Comfort me!

I’m trying to be something.

Comfort me!

I’m trying to be someone else…

When I was a little bit tired,

I would wait for another tide;

Sequester all the tension

So it never leaked outside.

But one day the burnout will get you-

You become a wasteland for thoughts to breed,

A canister of doubt,

Rendering your body incapacitated,

Limited,

A product of the burnout,

Burnout,

Burnout!

I was born with the knife that killed the King. They found it in my left hand but all I did was sing.

Some of us are born with it,

Some of us contract it

But the cycle will end somewhere

And then we all stop acting.