Letras
There's seven billion forty-six million people on the planet
And most of us have the audacity to think we matter
Hey! You hear the one about the comedian who croaked?
They stabbed him in the heart, just a little poke
But he keeled over 'cause he went into battle wearing chain mail made of jokes
Hey! You hear the one about the screenwriter who passed away?
He was giving elevator pitches and the elevator got stuck halfway
He ended up eating smushed sandwiches they pushed, through a crack in the door
And repeating the same crappy screenplay idea about talking dogs 'til his last day
Hey! You hear the one about the fisherman who passed?
Well he didn't jump off that ledge
He just stepped out into the air and pulled the ground up towards him really fast
Like he was pitching a line and went fishing for concrete
The earth is a drum and he's hitting it on beat
The reason there's smog in Los Angeles, is because if we could see the stars
If we could see the context of the universe in which we exist
And we could see how small each one of us really is
Against the vastness of what we don't know
Then nobody would ever audition for a McDonalds commercial again
And then where would we be?
No frozen dinners and no TV
And is that a world we want to text in?
Either someone just microwaved popcorn
Or I hear the sound of a thousand people pulling their heads out of their asses in rapid succession
The people are hunched over in Boston
They're starting screen printing companies and app stores in San Francisco
They're grinning in Los Angeles like they've got fishhooks in the corners of their mouth
But don't paint me like the good guy 'cause every time I write
I get to choose the angle that you view me and select the nicest light
You would not respect me if you heard the typewriter chatter tap tap
Tapping through my mind at night
The same stupid tape loop of old sitcom dialogue
And tattered memories of a girl I got to grind on in high school
Filed carefully on rice paper
My heart is a colored pencil