The City Has Sex

The city has sex with itself I suppose
As the concrete collides while the scenery grows
And the lonely once bandaged lay fully exposed
Having undressed their wounds for each other
And there's a boy in a basement with a four track machine
He’s been strumming and screaming all night down there
The tape hiss will cover the words that he sings
But they say it’s better to bury your sadness
In a graveyard or garden that waits for the spring
To awake from its sleep and burst into green
Well, I’ve cried
And you would think I'd feel better for it
But the sadness just sleeps
And it stays in my spine
For the rest of my life
And I’ve learned
And you’d think I’d be something more now
But it just goes to show
It is not what you know
It's what you were thinking at the time
This feeling’s familiar, I’ve been here before
In a kitchen this quiet I waited for
A sign or just something
That might reassure me of anything close
To meaning or motion, with a reason to move
I needed something I want to be close to
And I scream
But I still don’t know why I do it
Because the sound never stays, it just swells and decays
So what is the point?
Why try
To fight what is now so certain?
The truth is all that I am
Is a passing event
That will be forgotten