The Obituaries

We stumble and stare at the carnival lights that lit up New York City From the rooftop in Brooklyn that was covered in bad graffiti And then I let a thousand splinters pierce right through my spoiled liver Whatever that was left of it 'Cause I cursed my lonely memory with picture-perfect imagery Maybe I'm not dying, I'm just living in decaying cities But I'm still healthy, I'm still fine I'll be spending all my time readin' the obituaries But I will fuck this up I fucking know it I will fuck this up I fucking know it I will fuck this up I fucking know it I will fuck this up I fucking know it 'Cause I am the shadow of the wax wing slave I felt the buzz issued from window panes I am just freaking out, yeah, I'll be fine But I will fuck this up I fucking know it I will fuck this up I fucking know it I will fuck this up I fucking know it I will fuck this up I fucking know it