Cataclysmic visions, I get palpitations at night
I dream about some floating poet, then I get up and I write
And while I'm sure some write to feel content, and keep away the madness
The reason I keep doing this is to document my sadness
When I'm awake, I'm losing self-esteem
But when I drift away to sleep I have these self-important dreams
So please, chase me up the stairs just one last time
Nip me on the ankle, and tell me that we're fine
Tell me that we're fine
I know it's pathetic in a world with so much pain
I'm feeling sorry for myself but I can't seem to shake this shame
So I act like I'm impervious to the sh** that's thrown my way
And I know I shouldn't care, but I feel hideous today
When I'm awake, I'm losing self-esteem
But when I drift away to sleep I have these self-important dreams
So please, chase me up the stairs just one last time
Nip me on the ankle, and tell me that we're fine
Tell me that we're fine
Would you believe it, Sylvia Plath and me, in a rubber boat, out at sea
Hunched against the cold; we were tired and we were old. We shared abridged biographies and told dirty jokes as our extremities started to freeze, clouds overhead, I hung on every word she said. She said, "Is it the sea you hear in me? It's dissatisfactions, or the voice of nothing, that used to be your madness" it'll soon be dawn, so hurry up and row, or is it that you've got nowhere else to go, I can see you lonely behind the eyes, I can see you, and in a sense, I used to f**ing be you, and one day you'll be me, and maybe then you'll see, some boats weren't built to float, so hurry up and row..."