3.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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