Strip it down.
It really wasn't minimalist enough around here.
So this is how I'm going to start this off. I need this place right now. I need its anonymity. I'm not here to fill in the back story. I'm here to channel something that is going on right now.
Turn the volume all the way down. You can't hear what's going on with that shit blaring anyways. What is it? Reality? Reality looks an awful lot like a hotel room with no personality. The summer is slipping by. Green will give way to brown as it always does. Our time is worthless. It all happens in a second and then it's over. You are reliving it all right now.
Some where in the future in a hospital bed, a ditch, the bathtub, your last seconds slip by and your whole life is flashing before your eyes. Everyday I drive over this bridge on the way to work. Shortly after the Minnesota Bridge collapse, rumor start to travel around that this particular bridge was of the same age and design as that bridge over there. Tomorrow morning I'm going to roll over it once again, as I will tomorrow afternoon, and imagine, no remember, what it was like to go down my first roller coaster. You know, from the high part, the part that really grabbed you testicles. I'm going to have that feeling right there. AT the same time I'm going to see, as if it were real, the water open up before me, the jet skies skipping by, the boats, docked, the small whitish caps on one and a half foot waves. I'm going to remember doing all of this in a flash on my deaths bed, and my heart won’t skip a beat.
This hotel room makes it just too easy to disappear. I don't have to call anyone if I don't want to. I certainly don't have to see anyone. I don’t even know anyone in this town. I don't have to if I don't want to. I don't know if I could. And that's how I'm going to finish it.
So this is how I'm going to start this off. I need this place right now. I need its anonymity. I'm not here to fill in the back story. I'm here to channel something that is going on right now.
Turn the volume all the way down. You can't hear what's going on with that shit blaring anyways. What is it? Reality? Reality looks an awful lot like a hotel room with no personality. The summer is slipping by. Green will give way to brown as it always does. Our time is worthless. It all happens in a second and then it's over. You are reliving it all right now.
Some where in the future in a hospital bed, a ditch, the bathtub, your last seconds slip by and your whole life is flashing before your eyes. Everyday I drive over this bridge on the way to work. Shortly after the Minnesota Bridge collapse, rumor start to travel around that this particular bridge was of the same age and design as that bridge over there. Tomorrow morning I'm going to roll over it once again, as I will tomorrow afternoon, and imagine, no remember, what it was like to go down my first roller coaster. You know, from the high part, the part that really grabbed you testicles. I'm going to have that feeling right there. AT the same time I'm going to see, as if it were real, the water open up before me, the jet skies skipping by, the boats, docked, the small whitish caps on one and a half foot waves. I'm going to remember doing all of this in a flash on my deaths bed, and my heart won’t skip a beat.
This hotel room makes it just too easy to disappear. I don't have to call anyone if I don't want to. I certainly don't have to see anyone. I don’t even know anyone in this town. I don't have to if I don't want to. I don't know if I could. And that's how I'm going to finish it.
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