dumber with age

i dont know too much about too much
but i know im blind, when it comes the time,
to say sorry

i dont know too much about too much
but i know it was your lips, that triggered the bliss,
in our kiss

i dont know too much about too much
but i know it was your fears, that i could hear,
that turned me deaf

i dont know too much about too much,
but i think it might be love,

i dont know too much about too much,
all i know is
when we touch, the world turns to dust

we tried and we lied

my eyes ache and my head itches
with a cluttered brain thoughts escape through twitches
im punching the air
but there's nobody there
and my knuckles start staining their stitches

my forehead sweats curse words
to my new-found executioners
they don't care
grinning at despair
preventing their victims to be disinterred

i know i fight an already-lost war
i feel my bow and arrow getting too sore
there is no hope
from my scalp to my toes
but i know that there's gotta be something more

i peer through the crack
but with an unexpected smack
my gut kicks
my stomach flips
now all i see is pitch black

tuck me to sleep -

i want to run through the city streets with my beat-up leather boots (they got in a fight with the moccasins... who the fuck knows why) my arms will wave gallantly like they're about to explode i want to sit on the hood of a yellow taxi cab with my eyes squeezed tight shut humming these great 70's songs i heard the other day i want to wear those fucking colossally huge sun-hats that those unbelievably rich women wear to horse races who have nothing better to do with their time then spend their almost-6-feet-under husbands' money and pick fights with each other about one another's wardrobe i want to dance in circles in a lumberjack shirt without getting dizzy i want wavy hair that reaches my hips i want to laugh at the sun i want to sing into the moon light i want to punch the clouds with my ugly arms i want to forget about the bad stuff and be happy all the time like butter cups i want to figure shit out i want to be debonair i want to eat at a great trattoria and order the food in italian i want to live fast i want to live great i want to live monumentally i want to live infinitely i want the desolate in my life to pack it's bags and leave me without explanation i want to sky dive