The Fine Art of Self-Destruction

I’m a witness to the sickness
In a place I call my home
On the weekend hit the deep end
With the secrets that I own
Like an old song with a new girl
She never gets the jokes
But you need her so you bleed her
For the image it evokes
Lonely process
Only process
I will make it up to you
Took a long walk
For a tall boy
Sinking down in the couch
Playing new wave like the old days
Put the barrel in your mouth
Like a sad man when he’s deadpan
Never knew a work of art
Or a father with his children
A marriage that blew apart
Lonely process
Only process
I will make it up
I will take it up to you
Oh the old time TV movies
Thinking you got it made
Like a dancer with a desk job
A dee-jay with a list to play
I’m an old whore
In a thrift store
Looking for something black
Like a bad dream when you come clean
Hoping that you’ll come back
Lonely process
Only process
I will make it up to you