there is a car parked where the block begins
  and there are people singing praises
  say it's all because of him
  and there is a bird perched on a frayed wet wire
  and his voice sings out for a lover
  but its 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 are all fucking alone
  and we don't know what we are doing
  maybe just buying us some hope
  because we know that we are lonely
  yeah, lonely that's for sure
  and the older ones are coughing
  and the older ones are dying
  maybe we are 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
  and 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 so easy
  but when there is no point to anything it can get a bit confusing
  why is that i keep going?
  why is that we keep going?