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The Ready Aim Fire!
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Past Lives
So when you dream, / it's neon streets / and game-show crowds / that won't stop clapping. / It's hotel skies, / collapsing minds, / that heavy penance / for past lives, / the nights on fire, / the drunken slurs, / and the morning hits you / like a dirty word. // Oh, so you make enough money for your cigarettes, / but you can't implode without an audience / and your lungs try to tell you that you're going soft / while your woman coughs. / So you finally got bored of the tourist traps / and of drinking with the girls for the full collapse, / so you stopped disagreeing with the acid thoughts, / “Yeah, I'm going soft.” // But when you sing to me, / I don't feel their teeth. / Ah, when you sing to me, / well, I don't hear anything / at all. // And she was singing, “Does it eat at you? / Baby, 'cause it eats at me, / but if they're getting sick of you, / then maybe they'll get sick of me. // But you make enough money for your cigarettes, / so there's no real reason for an audience. / Well, they came, they came, they stayed a bit, and they just left. // So we'll domesticate our fears, / baby, we'll domesticate our vices, / and if you leave me, just don't leave me here / in this silence. // So will you sing to me? / 'Cause I still feel their teeth. / Oh, will you sing to me? / 'Cause I can't hear anything / at all // but our past lives, / just our past lives.”
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