There's a car parked where the block begins   And these people singing praises   Say it's all because of him   And there's a bird perched on a frayed wet wire   And his voice sings out for a lover   But it's covered by the choir   Of voices reaching way beyond the rafters   With devotion they perform these sacred tasks   They cross themselves and offer up their checkbooks   Slight suffering is not too much to ask   Besides, we all are making money   And we're all fucking alone   And we don't know what we're doing   Maybe just buying us some hope   Because we know that we are lonely   Well, yeah, lonely that's for sure   And the older ones are coughing   Yeah, the older ones they're dying   Maybe we're all dying   I pass a graveyard on my way to work   Today I saw two dozen white roses   on a fresh new mound of dirt   And I wondered about the occupant   When the darkness finally swallowed him   was he calm and content?   Or was he sweating in a struggle to keep breathing   Ripping apart the sheets that dressed his bed   Crying out loud for someone to help him   Then collapsing on his back all pale and dead   Maybe it's me who's this unstable   Always obsessed about the end   Why can't I let what happens happen   And just enjoy the time I spend?   Oh, how I wish it was that easy   But when there is no point to anything   You know it gets a bit confusing   Why it is that I keep going   Why is it that we keep going?