Tymon & The Transistors Sunday
childhood boredom coming back
TV on and spewing crap
smell of cabbage in the air
no escape from average care
I slowly start to realize
it’s like I’m trapped inside a game
fun’s transparent, somewhat tearful
tears transparent, somewhat funny
this home is not my real home
these chores won’t give me what I own
thinking of you brings some relief
music saves me from getting numb
sitting, sifting thru‘ my guts
watch the telly start to melt
first I laugh like I’ve gone nuts
then I cry and yell for help
I slowly start to realize
there’s no trap and there’s no game
joy’s transparent, somewhat poignant
pain‘s transparent, kind of blissful
sidetracked and abandoned
squatting hell and sick a dog
thinking of you keeps me from abuse
let the music kick when I shout it out
