Goodbye Calcutta

I smoke on the front porch.
The french fries burn inside.
I wait for Ricki Lake, I think she's on at 3:00.
And smoke is everywhere:
It's everything
and keeps me from being seen.
And I'll hide at the end of the couch as the TV screams, 'some sad boy has been suffocating'
And everyone thinks that he's guilty of something
And we don't know what
As they point their fingers at his heartstrings unwinding,
they lay on the floor, explode under their feet
His blood cakes the walls, explodes on the wood paneling
The blood of ex-lovers: goodbye, Calcutta

Smoke is soaking in the blood
on the walls that are closing in on me.

So light up your incense, smoke up your cigarettes.

The blue light of the TV screen
needles through the haze.
The light is piercing me, it pierces everything
This house can never go to sleep
And when cars go by, they peek inside
and see the TV scream
They know what its like to be lonely
Or what its like to be guilty
of something,
they don't know what,
But their fingers point at their memories, dead dreams
As the smoke pulls away the blood clots in their veins
Count down to explode. Prepare to unload
the bombs of ex-lovers
Goodbye, Calcutta.

Your walls are closing on in me
Your walls are closing on in me