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.