I walk outside; you were never really there, and I think to myself, that there are buildings everywhere. I walk outside; you were half-conscious, so it's fine. And I talk to a friend on the phone, and it's all right. I walk outside; I miss late nights in the city. In your apartment, you held many things; but this was always there. I walk outside; all your secrets came back with me, and I think it's cool. It's cool that you're letting it all go. And it's cool, it's cool; just like your dreams, and my dreams, and everything is fixed, and the world is made up of guns and newspapers, and toy painted guns are illegal, and I walk outside to find nothing, but the corner and the back.
I walk outside; I feel nauseous every day, and I think to myself, that it shouldn't be this way. I walk outside; I've never dealt with this before. Or maybe I have, and I thought I wanted more. I walk outside; I miss the dark and the light, because for now, it's all just figures facing towards the street. I walk outside; I want everything I can't have, and I talk about the way it all has to end. But never knowing this brutal ending, and everything is dead to me; we're all soldiers fighting cars on the little highway roads, and I walk outside to find nothing, but the corner and the back. And the signs all point to an intersection of two roads.