The Bag

Endless evenings of non-exist

Are getting shorter, monotonous

Like any intruder, I belong outside

Although I find myself right back

The same place I was before

Saying things I'd say once more

There's no reason for me to be here, no

I feel so lonesome surrounded by friends

Who are talking at me, saying things

I could care less about

This dialogue is without

Worth, content, significance

Conversational ambivalence

Hear the same things every night

It just ain't right

We'll be left holding the bag

Give me something I can sink my teeth into

Show me a time, tell me a story

I haven't heard a million times before

I pass out from boredom

As I watch the people pass

I see moments in their lives, nothing fascinating

Are we all living for the past, never realizing

We're clinging to an empty bag

Lacking content, significance

Conversational ambivalence

And the same things every night

It just ain't right

We'll see who's left holding the bag