The Obituaries

We stumble and stare at the carnival lights that lit up New York City

From the rooftop in Brooklyn that was covered in bad graffiti

And then I let a thousand splinters pierce right through my spoiled liver

Whatever that was left of it

'Cause I cursed my lonely memory with picture-perfect imagery

Maybe I'm not dying, I'm just living in decaying cities

But I'm still healthy, I'm still fine

I'll be spending all my time readin' the obituaries

But I will fuck this up

I fucking know it

I will fuck this up

I fucking know it

I will fuck this up

I fucking know it

I will fuck this up

I fucking know it

'Cause I am the shadow of the wax wing slave

I felt the buzz issued from window panes

I am just freaking out, yeah, I'll be fine

But I will fuck this up

I fucking know it

I will fuck this up

I fucking know it

I will fuck this up

I fucking know it

I will fuck this up

I fucking know it