The Word Lisa

Our pockets turned out, our change on the ground Whatever we had is lost in the house The carpets are dusty Our bones are brittle from eating garbage and sitting down Freaking out again at the supermarket Putting out of order signs on things that work Break a piece off that lobby fountain Our points have been chiseled down If we could all be happy at once, there'd be such competition Jamming paperclips right into an outlet Walk out with hundreds of dollars in junk to buy some chips And lay in bed (Whose side am I on?) Second dollar, second cent (We've got life here) What we call life has to be worked out (Left in dust to) Carry ourselves out When we get home, we won't be empty We found a purpose in each other Break the mirror, we get younger Life will always be weird