it strikes me,
sudden and from the black,
that life’s been a habit of settling for less,
with each new refrain.
I wanna sell you something,
I wanna stand stage-side and spout these words,
I wanna see the admiration in your eyes.
I want, I want, I want more,
I want to feel about my work the way the vocal few
(few here being a singular construction, and not indicitive of a plural of any kind)
‘n it’s not up-
-tempo enough,
so I’m blastin’ those old highschool angst tunes,
got that gotta say somethin’, gotta say somethin’ drum-beat,
‘n ‘course, ‘course my voice is unique!
but that don’t feel natural to think.
‘n think or thunk or whole or chunk,
don’t, don’t matter much,
if you ain’t shellin’ out–
life is full of all these needs,
spaces ‘n things to fill ’em.
but somethin’ about growin’ up,
seems bent on teachin’ that ain’t the case,
far as them creative passions go.
‘course I’m still askin’ that not-yet-dead dream:
if I can get by on the gettin’ by,
can I drive my drive to soar?
so it strikes me, lightnin’ in the dark,
that I got this habit of givin’ less than it’s worth,
’cause I’d rather be with friends,
’cause I’d rather be drunk,
’cause I’d rather be high,
’cause I’d rather be, rather be a little more
‘n it ain’t that it ain’t anymore,
but the rather ‘n the ravel ain’t so different on the tongue,
‘n ain’t so different on the go.
sO I wanna sell you somethin’,
I got these words I’m slingin’,
‘n I’m just hopin’ someone out there’s pickin’ ’em up.
’cause I’m tryin’,
tryin’ to market myself,
but I got this problem with worth ‘n self ‘n givin’ up on the gettin’ up.
I’m tryin’ the gettin’ up,
again ‘n again.
