The sputter and blink of the streetlamp   Makes you taller, then shrinks you, then splits you in half   So you're trailing yourself on the walk to the payphone   Your pockets weighted down with quarters   And the hope that no one's home      You spray paint cinnamon on vines   And key the cars you pass by   Your ears burn and your voice don't sound right      So you spend the next week playing weekend   Rolling three-man alone in the dark in your kitchen   Your apartment can't talk, so it's safe for your secrets   All the stories you've invested with a masochist's   menace and meaning      Those tired tricks that you play   To graft a life to your name   And you know it's not yours, but for now it's okay      You wake and cut your initials in cheap glass   To mark a space for yourself when your time here has passed   And you're drifted and done, trading danger for distance   And all those rocks that rope your neck are finally nameless   and weightless and faceless      You'll strip the sting from those stains that bleed the life   from your face   And your cheeks'll burn red on that pure, perfect day