The Obituaries

We stumbled and stared at the carnival lights that lit up New York City,
From a rooftop in Brooklyn that was covered in bad graffiti.
And then I let a thousand splinters pierce right through my spoiled liver,
Or whatever that was left of it.
'Cause I’ve 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’ve been spending all my time reading 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 waxwing slain
I felt the false azure from windowpanes
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.