Portrait of the Cigarette as a Young Prophet
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Am I invited to the divine council?
Am I in the divine?
Am I a part of the divine
If I trade my silverware for strings
Are my hands clean enough
To sell everything to feed my family
There are murals of morals
Adjacent to the mortuary
There are shelters next to billboards
To tell you how the world is falling apart
For everything I've turned into profit
It was everything I thought I needed
But I need to find a normal life
Somewhere between this fantasy
And the real world in front of me
But if I'm not someone's prophet
Might as well make a fortune
Might as well make half a living
To help her pay, to have something to offer
When I heard her say if you do this
You'll never be able to call yourself
When all your emergency contacts
Have their own emergencies
From decades beyond my sight of running
Selling a portrait of myself
I'm just another
I'm just another
I'm just another
I'm just another
Just another on Sunday
Where will they send me
Alone in purgatory
For my sins
I-
I need money
I need a life
I need a job
I need love
I need new words
I don't want a seat
I don't want to try the restaurant
I don't see what you see
You don't know what I mean
I don't know who I am when I'm wrong
I don't know who's right or wrong
Cause every angel who falls on earth's cold core
Drags us down sooner or later
It was never your fault for seeing through
Who I was, too busy being
I don't see her or him
I just see myself
But I need to know, where do I turn
When it all breaks so easily
(I don't need you to tell me, I'll make it for myself,
I can't take another hand changing the fingerprints)
There's a line that my idols crossed
That I'm afraid I've already crossed
What if this is who I am