seven into eight

i'm sitting back home in my mind
all is stolen
there's boys and there's girls in the room
i don't know why
pictures of people
choice is sometimes not my name
but i am true in
they think, oh, the damage i've done

we spoke strangely in the room with the ghosts
they're going back home
i know it's hard to say
lying on nothing is always assumed
what the hell am i going to do

give me computer games
i don't think i'm amused
i spoke of bob dylan but no one got me
i'm confused
i like these people
they seem really cool
it's just that i'm looking to slip in
how can they refuse and

i feel like i missed it again
with the freak in the wrung who isn't a freak
i'm not taking anything (away)
i should be sleeping
heart's given compassion
have all turned to me
and hope is only hope

don't speak a word
the clocks have all been forward impaled
i'm sharing the liquid
everyone looks my way
it's been so long now
regret is pulling me down
so i'm laughing on the inside
('cause i know we all mean well)

one day saint thomas will smile because it's all over
all acts have been consummated
no one was left behind
and everyone smiles as the earth slowly disappears
into the haplight of thirty-three

-winston campbell-
8/4/96